


We Are Fixed, Right Where We Stand

by Syntheticpalindromes



Series: Good News [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Autistic Charles Smith, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Cowboys in Love, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Found Family, Hosea is a Dad™, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Riding, Sean lives, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Topping from the Bottom, cowboys were the gayest men out there history says so, men learning to accept their emotions!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/pseuds/Syntheticpalindromes
Summary: Hosea took another drink of his beer next to him, eyes cast across the lake and Arthur followed, watching the early evening insects skit across the surface. Just waiting to be eaten by the swirls of fish flitting through the waters below them.Hosea broke the silence, “You seem...Happier recently.”Arthur didn’t know how to respond for a brief moment, so he stumbled over a couple of vowels before Hosea’s laugh was settling him and he said slowly, “I suppose I am? Nothing much though.”Hosea’s eyes didn’t leave the rhythmic lapping of the lake against the dock, but the way his mouth curled, Arthur knew that he was about to be perhaps a bit too smart.---Charles and Arthur's life clambers on, unhurried yet still not theeasiest. From horse sales gone awry to O'Driscolls to Arthur attempting to navigate the delicate balance of being with someone when there's more often than not a bounty on your head.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde (implied), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Good News [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742431
Comments: 100
Kudos: 298





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i decided to chapter this which i dont usually do bc i have brain worms but here it is!
> 
> if you haven't read the first fic in this series then either click here ([world at large](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599636)) (and then also read the second fic too just because :)) or go back in the link ao3 provides bc otherwise you're missing out on 27k worth of charthur fic that i worked hard on and you won't have a fcking clue what's going on!
> 
> anyway enjoy pals

The horse sale hadn’t gone as planned. And as Arthur tucked his hat back onto his head and rode back into camp, cool, trickling sweat tacking the nape of his neck, he felt like a fool. Nothing new, of course, but he had gotten slightly tired of the feeling forever pervading most things him and the boys did. However, there was a hefty wad of $116 in his pocket and at least they’d made a valuable discovery of the horse fence just a ride away from the camp. 

He hitched Clem to one of the posts as soon as he was in camp, murmuring a few words to her and giving Kieran a hearty smack on the back when he appeared to take off the saddle and give her a brush down. 

“ _Good kid_ ”, Arthur thought to himself. 

Perhaps a drink would settle his mood a little, so Arthur wandered over to Pearson’s wagon, ever hopeful that there would be a bottle of something fine lying around for him to take. Lo and behold, there were plenty of beers rattling inside one of the stacked apple crates, and Arthur grabbed a couple, gathering them in his arms and with a plan to sit by the lake and fan the sun with a cool drink in hand. 

Hosea caught him before he’d even made it halfway, “Ah. You’re back.” He held out a hand towards the beer bottles juggled in Arthur’s (now tanned from the Lemoyne sun) arms. Arthur grimaced at him and dug out a bottle to hand to his would-be father, to which Hosea murmured a gentle, “Thank you.” Popping the lid on the nearest hard surface and taking a slow drink, sucking in a breath afterwards, “My. I needed that.”

He raised the lip of the beer out towards the lake, “Would you indulge me with some conversation?” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “You don’t have to ask, a’course.” 

The beer was brought with them, pushed down into the course sand as Arthur kicked his feet out in front of him and held out a hand for Hosea to lower himself to sit on a large log positioned to look out at the, for now, still waters. Hosea patted his shoulder in thanks when he was sat. 

“I’m not that old just yet.” 

“Well then, you don’t need any help getting back up I assume.” Arthur’s grin was sharp and Hosea chuckled low.

“Don’t be so clever, you remind me too much of myself.”

They clinked their bottles together and sat for a while, Hosea tugging a handkerchief from God knows where to dab at the perspiration on his brow. Getting used to the warmth of Lemoyne after Colter (and even Horseshoe with it’s breezy vistas) was just as tricky for the older man it seemed as it was for Arthur, who constantly was having to lift the damp fabric of his shirts off his chest after a ride about. Sweat trickling down the curve of his collarbone and shoulder blades to the hollow of his back often. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but it beat the feeling of _not feeling_ your nose back up in the mountains, and when the sun and breeze hit that perfect conjunction, Arthur might even go so far as to say he liked the place. 

Hosea took another drink of his beer next to him, eyes cast across the lake and Arthur followed, watching the early evening insects skit across the surface. Just waiting to be eaten by the swirls of fish flitting through the waters below them. 

Hosea broke the silence, “You seem...Happier recently.”

Arthur didn’t know how to respond for a brief moment, so he stumbled over a couple of vowels before Hosea’s laugh was settling him and he said slowly, “I suppose I am? Nothing much though.” 

Hosea’s eyes didn’t leave the rhythmic lapping of the lake against the dock, but the way his mouth curled, Arthur knew that he was about to be perhaps a bit _too_ smart. 

“Would you let me tell you a story?”

“Sure.” Arthur tilted his head to grin at Hosea, “Not like I could stop you anyway.”

Hosea’s elbow was a sharp, joking jab in his ribs but the older man continued anyway, “This was a good while ago, not too sure how old you were. But, if you’d believe me in any way, there was a time when I wasn’t the lighthearted, joy of a man you see today. When I was a younger man I was...Well, you could say that I had a _real_ temper.”

Arthur snorted softly, turning the bottle in his hands, “Oh, I remember that. You used to scare the living daylights out’a me and John sometimes.”

Hosea sniggered, the lines around his mouth deepening as he smiled, “Yes, I’m actually quite sorry for some of the times I snapped at you two but, most of the time you boneheads deserved it. Anyway, there was a time when I would find myself in these angers, and the anger would slip into...Something else. Not too unlike the way people have this idea that you’re a big, terrifying, angry, sad man.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, “Well that’s...One way to put it.”

“It wasn’t until I realised that although people can’t always fix you...They certainly can turn you, knock you on your ass and make you stop acting like that with the way they love you. Not all men need love, but I think maybe there are some that deserve it for all that they suffer, and think that they suffer themselves.”

Arthur sat, and he listened, rolling the lip of his beer across his own bottom lip. Unsure of how to comment on what was being said to him, because while he sometimes hated the fact, Hosea was suspiciously _aware_ of everything that happened around camp. Always the first to toss Bill on his ass in the dirt when he’d been drinking his fair share and was acting like a clown, bothering the women and angering the men. It was a sixth sense Hosea had, to know what was transpiring around camp.

He steeled himself against the knowledge that Hosea probably _knew_ about him and Charles.

Clearing his throat, he spoke in a soft voice, “Well, I’m glad you had Bessie. She seemed like a fine woman. I know that you loved her greatly.” 

Hosea’s laugh caught Arthur off guard, the sound rattling around the older man’s chest and settling in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant though, he didn’t feel like he was being made fun of for the comment, just the simple joy of the older man finding his almost-son amusing, “Arthur, _I wasn’t talking about Bessie_.”

His gaze had shifted, Arthur could tell in the way Hosea’s eyes softened and yet his brows were slanted down. Creasing the lines around his eyes and Arthur followed the conflicting look to the source of what was causing it. 

Just down the edge of the sands and grass that lined the lake, Dutch was stood with Molly grasped tight to his front. The two of them swayed to a music that wasn’t even playing, which Arthur was a bit thankful for in some ways knowing how Dutch enjoyed blasting his records. Their hands were clasped and Dutch was obviously speaking into her ear about something saccharine, the smile plastered across Molly’s face was a dead give away. 

Arthur’s chest went tight. 

Mostly for his own downright foolishness to never look and see what was happening with the men who basically raised him from a teen. Perhaps it was a case of knowing himself, and knowing that he was of the same persuasion, and as a young man he had hated it. He hated that he could pass his eyes over stable hands his age (or whoever else) and feel nothing wrong with the attraction that would pass through his body. 

He had always struggled with the fact that it just felt natural to feel a certain way towards some other men. Which made hardly any sense to him, but it was the only way he could compartmentalise it enough to understand. It was almost as if he _wanted_ to hate that part of himself, just like others hated the mere idea of two men being together, but he didn’t. It had always just made sense to him, and that in itself felt _bad_. 

Perhaps that had transferred onto his parental figures. It just made sense for the two of them to function like a mother and father would in any other setting; yet the two of them were both men. In turn, he had ignored everything about them that made him wonder if they were perhaps more than just partners in the simplest sense. The ignorance of it going on for too long, forming a habit, until he truly just accepted that Dutch was a womaniser and Hosea would never love anyone other than Bessie. 

He knew that his throat sounded almost closed in its tightness as he said to Hosea, 

“How long?”

Hosea turned to look at him then, looking just as wistful as he did when he _did_ speak of Bessie and their life together, “Oh, I don’t know. A lifetime I suppose.” 

“Does he...Feel the same?”

Hosea’s mouth curled, “I have reasons to believe so, yes.”

He couldn’t help but look back at Dutch, how he had Molly held against him without care of people looking at them. His hands all but clasped about her breast now, her own pulling a cigarette to her mouth, then offering it to him; Dutch taking a drag of it. It didn’t feel indecent in any way, but it felt private. As if he were watching something that was only meant for them, and it was an intrusion in the way it was such a soft moment between them.

It upset Arthur. Deeply. 

“Why do you let him go off and...And galavant with these women? If you”—He swallowed—”feel that way for Dutch, then how do you not hate to see him with others?” 

The idea just didn’t compute with Arthur, but he knew the answer that was coming. And for it, he felt such sadness for Hosea. 

Hosea’s hand settled on Arthur’s knee comfortingly, Arthur frowning down at the taut skin of his knuckles and the way it seemed so thin and brittle. Hosea wasn’t too well those last couple of months, and though he wasn’t _old_ , he wasn’t young. The fact that even then, when danger could creep up on them at any point, Dutch still cavorted with girls. Arthur knew the feeling of being so close to the one you loved, and knowing that despite that, you weren’t wanted to be together by outside causes. It was the same when he was with Mary. 

No one wanted them together, they made that very clear. 

“I’m an old fool, Arthur. I’ve lived a few lives, each of them good enough in their own ways. Maybe I just...Can’t bring myself to worry too much about it.” The beer met his mouth again and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, “Sometimes he gets bored of them, and maybe I take a small pride in knowing that over all these years, I’m the only thing that’s stuck with him.” He hid it well, Arthur noted, but the upset was set deep into Hosea’s eyes, “Of course it’s one hell of an unsatisfactory situation but...As clever as I am, I have yet to outwit the menace that is my love for him.”

Arthur placed his hand over Hosea’s, tucking his fingers around his pa’s and grasping him hard, “I just hope you’re happy.” 

Hosea squeezed back, “Happy enough.” He shrugged a shoulder gently though, “Or maybe I’ve just settled for this. An easy thing to do, to settle.” 

Arthur was unfortunately reminded with those words all too well of how he already knew that. He had in his own way loved Eliza, she was sharp as a tack and wittier than any man he knew. Hosea would have liked her immensely. But he didn’t love her. Not in the way that she had wanted him to love her, and their son was something that should have never happened. Something he hated to think about but, the two of them were never meant to live a life as man and wife with a child. 

Often though there had been times when he had thought that maybe he should have settled. Gone to her and lived a life that he didn’t want, because maybe it had been enough to love her in that gentle, friendly way that had confused him for a while. The time they had spent together was always enjoyable, and the boy Isaac was a sweet lad. 

Even when he had never been too sure of how to address Arthur when he was old enough to talk. It had sounded off to him, to hear the boy calling him, “da’”, so much to Eliza’s dismay, he had asked the boy to simply call him, “Arthur”. But still, despite the vague awkwardness of Arthur not wanting to claim the role of a proper father, they’d spent many, many good times playing together.

It certainly would have been a life. Much like the one he could have had with Mary. 

But it was not one he had wanted to _settle_ for. 

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, just for him.” Arthur grumbled.

The smile Hosea gave him in return was wry, “Maybe that’s just love, Arthur.”

“I’m still not happy about it.”

“Oh, well. You live and learn.”

The beers had been forgotten by that point, and to see them would be a sure sight. Two grown men, clasping hands and Arthur almost tucked into Hosea like a toddler would tuck into the coat of their father. 

Arthur wished so many times as a boy that Hosea had always been his father. That he’d always been there for him. Maybe life would be different for him, maybe he’d be a better man. To be able to be Jack’s age and have someone like Hosea to curl himself into, knowing that even now, even after everything they’d done. Everyone they’d killed, Hosea still cared deeply for him. 

The sounds of sand crunching underfoot shook Arthur from the trough of his own ruminations, and John (quite frankly awful) bootcut pants appeared next to where they were sat. A bottle of beer in one hand, and Jack’s hand clasped in the other. 

“You two certainly look comfortable here.” The lilt of goading was woven into most things John said around Arthur, and it was all too apparent as the younger of the two “brothers” looked down on the two older men. Jack, seemingly unaware of his own father’s smug jibe, simply wrenched his hand from his dad’s and immediately sat himself on Hosea’s knee. 

John snuffled a laugh and joined as well, sitting on the other side of Arthur and knocking their knees together in the way only an irritating little brother could. To which Arthur knocked back even harder until Jack was laughing at their buffoonish display. 

Hosea bounced the boy, one arm around his middle and the other still on Arthur’s knee, 

“Isn’t this nice. Something to make an old man happy, his sons _and_ his grandson, all together.”

Arthur didn’t speak for a good while as they all sat there, hands laced together on his lap and chest heavy. It was a lot to take in on the best of days when he had a quiet moment to sit and think about it; he may have had many opportunities of families taken from him but the people that were sat with him at that moment were people that had always been there. As angry as John made him, and even though they weren’t blood, he loved them all so dearly and deeply.

John’s boot scuffed the side of his and he looked up to meet his concerned look, “You okay there, Arthur?”

He licked his lips, ducking his head in a nod at John, “Sure. Just thinkin’ is all.”

John scoffed, “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Sometimes Arthur wondered if the way that the two of them told each other they loved the other were the playful jabs they made. 

He hoped so. 

He hoped that John thought the same too. 

After a while of sitting and listening to Jack tell a tale he’d made up (all by himself!) about a dragon and a knight, Abigail’s voice lifted towards them. The woman stood, a dish cloth in her hand and the other one gripping her hip, at the edge of the camp. Thankfully for John, she didn’t sound all too angry as she called down to them, “You gonna bring my boy back? It’s almost his bedtime.” 

Jack’s shoulders slumped against Hosea’s front, “Aw. I wan’ed to stay up a little longer…”

“I think maybe you should listen to your mother, otherwise the dragon in your tale might just come to life.” 

Jack’s answering look of confusion set the three men into a bundle of laughs, and John to voice, “Don’t you go tellin’ your momma that your Pop said that. Or we’ll all be for the pot.”

Once again, the look that Jack gave his father was more one of confusion than anything else but he answered happily, “Okay!”

As Arthur watched John carry his boy over to their tents and his waiting mother, he could feel the pinprick sensation of Hosea looking at him, and the older man uttered the simple statement of, “Don’t think I don’t know you’re on the verge of bawling.”

Arthur’s chest puffed out in an imitation of bravado, “I ain’t!”

Hosea’s brows shot up his face and Arthur couldn’t help the nervous laugh that fell from him, “Well...Not _bawlin’_.” 

Unfortunately for him, Hosea was entirely correct in his observation of Arthur’s current emotional status. His eyes were tight, tears threatening to daub the corners at the mere idea of being _happy_ with the people he was with, although it could have been the fact that alcohol had the tendency to heighten his emotions and turn him into a complete fool. 

Hosea’s distraction came just at the right time.

“Would you like to speak about Charles or—”

“Hosea, if I were to start speaking about Charles, we wouldn’t get to bed before sunrise. And I know damn well that you like to be on your bedroll by eleven sharp.” 

“Must you insist on reminding me that I’m no longer a spry buck like yourself?”

Arthur settled for rumbling a laugh and gathering up the beer bottles that lay strewn about the sand at their feet. Hosea, not moving from where he was sat, as he pressed his hands down to smooth the fabric of his waist coat which had rumpled from Jack sitting on his knee. He cast a look towards Arthur, a sudden cough wringing his lungs and Arthur looked down at him sympathetically from where he was stood, “You alright?”

Hosea flapped a hand, “Fine, fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I think worrying about their old man is every person’s prerogative.”

Hosea grinned back until Arthur was laying out his hand for him to take, hefting the older man to his feet and shuffling the bottles in his arms up a little higher so they didn’t fall to the floor as soon as he did it. 

There was a thought dancing around his head, something that he hadn’t wanted to ever entertain voicing to Hosea (or Dutch for that matter), but it seemed pertinent to risk bringing up at that moment. Now that he knew all that he did about the two of them, finally the environment seemed safe enough to speak on it.

His face was hot, not with shame just with nervous energy, as he mumbled, “Hosea, even if you didn’t know what it was like to—to love a man, would you still accept me as your boy?”

There was no hesitation in Hosea’s reply of, “Of course, and as stubborn and pigheaded as he may be, as would Dutch. And Bessie too, I think.” Hosea nudged Arthur with his shoulder, “It may come as a surprise to you, but you’re not as hard to love as you think.”

The hug he then pulled Arthur into was firm, and Arthur stood still, wanting to hold the other man back but the bottles in his arms hindered him. So he settled for just choking out, 

“And Charles, you...Approve?” 

Hosea pulled Arthur back, both hands on either of his shoulders, “Arthur, I don’t think there’s a person on this earth I trust more to keep you in check than that boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onCE again, if you enjoyed this please please consider kudos and commenting, it's literally the joy of my life to hear back from people and i love to respond to u!
> 
> also i do have a schedule for this fic for it might be worth popping it into ur subscriptions bc i will be updating it regularly every tuesday (unless im suddenly yanked back to work as rn im furloughed lmao)
> 
> oh also going off a comment i got i just wanna say bc maybe i didnt make it obvious in this chapter, hosea and dutch in this particular fic are literally middle aged men in love, it's just that dutch is THICK in the OL NOGGIN but also maybe that comp het got him in it's grasp :/ but yeah it's not just a friend love
> 
> anyway u can find me on twitter @transmatty & on tumblr @cowboyism


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at how SWIFT that rating went up lmaooooo
> 
> anyway enjoy and also 100 points for whoever guesses the pet peeve i aired for no reason in this fic and then went "nah keep that in it's a valid point" because i have brain worms

Arthur’s day had consisted of hunting a darn fox through a thicket of trees and bushes, getting ever closer to it then letting it slip through his fingers as he fumbled with his bow in an attempt to be quiet, when perhaps a gun would have done better. Needless to say, when he returned to camp just as the sun was being swallowed by the lake, he was covered in pricker scratches and the front of his shirt was caked with dry, dusty dirt where he’d taken a tumble at one point. 

Once again the only thing that seemed to lighten his mood was the thought of a beer and some food. Thankfully he’d given Ms Grimshaw some herbs, and even a couple of wild chillies he’d been gifted by a wonderful man who lived very, very West. West enough that he’d been a bit worried that the Pinkertons might have gotten hold of him for being so brazen as to ride that far. He’d had the chillies stowed away for a while though and Grimshaw had been verging on ecstatic when he’d handed over the bundle. 

“Oh thank the _Lord_.” She had breathed, and as Arthur took a spoonful of stew into his mouth, it tasted a lot better than usual. Not so bland and watery. The actual flavour of the base now had a spicy kick and as he sat down in front of the fire next to Lenny, he nudged the young man with an arm.

“S’good tonight, huh?”

Lenny’s returning laugh was bright and he raised a spoonful of his own in a small toast, “Sure beats the usual, but,” he sighed and shook his head, “sometimes I wish we could have something a little different. I’d give my left arm for some roasted potatoes. Or imagine, sausages on a Sunday morning.”

Sean groaned, clasping his hand about his belly and looking like he was gazing in a dream as he said, “Don’t, you’ll make me cry t’inking about it. Have you boys ever had Coddle?” He whistled low as if he were thinking about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, “Fu-uck me, it’s good.”

Javier’s frown was thoughtful, and he asked in his forever sweet lilt, “I thought that English people couldn’t cook?”

Sean’s face went very quickly from looking like he was deeply in love with the concept of whatever kind of meal he was imagining, to going a scarlet colour. Cancelling out all the freckles that were pin pricked across his face with the intensity of his anger.

“Do you want me to smash your teeth in?” 

Javier cackled, stamping his feet against the dirt in glee at being able to anger Sean so easily, “You’re from all around the same area!”

Sean huffed hotly through his nose, “So would ya like me to start calling you a Yankee?”

“I’d rather you cut my fingers off.” Was all Javier replied with, which Sean seemed to find infinitely funny and after walloping Javier on the back a few times, all idea of being annoyed was completely lost and he had gone back to drinking happily. 

“Thas’a good one. I like that.” He lifted a finger towards Javier, wagging it impertinently, “Don’t you dare fucking call me English again though, or I’ll beat you so hard that your grandmammy will feel it.”

Javier’s nose wrinkled, “That’s cruel, man. Leave my grandmother out of this.”

Arthur, who had been sat listening to the two of them bicker quite happily, suddenly piped up, empty bowl now pushed to the side and hands tucked together on his lap like a small child, “Hey, Javier. How comes you don’t speak Spanish when you’re speaking to us?”

The look that Javier gave him was something that Arthur was quite used to. He’d been shot it by many, many people on too many occasions. Most recently when he’d been out riding and he’d encountered an older lady, dressed in a sandy coloured outfit and talking about _big lizards_ of all things, which apparently had roamed the earth before people had. Although, when exactly that was, Arthur wasn’t sure. When he’d been shocked to hear this, the look the woman had given him had left him feeling like a schoolchild who couldn’t do his additions. 

Javier wet his lips, leaning an elbow on knee as he leant closer to Arthur, “Because, Arthur, you don’t speak Spanish? So you wouldn’t understand me.” He spoke this as if it were obvious. Which, really, it was. But, despite the fact that Arthur was in his own right a very clever man, he could be completely braindead in other ways. So sometimes, it didn’t hurt to explain things simply.

Arthur’s hand reached up to scratch behind his ear, not in any way embarrassed at himself as he pressed on, “I jus’ thought that maybe sometimes you might add in some Spanish words...You know...For fun. Or, say for instance, if you didn’t know the word in English.”

Javier and Lenny exchanged a look, and the Mexican young man said slowly, “I mean...The only time I think it’s needed for me to speak Spanish is to insult all you morons without fear of you punching me for being so rude.” The answer had Lenny sniggering, a hand shooting up to cover his mouth as if he was caught off guard by how funny the answer could be. Or perhaps to save Arthur some embarrassment from seeing his friend laughing at his expense. 

“Oh.” Was all Arthur muttered in answer. 

“I can speak Gaeilge if you want, Arthur.” 

“What in the heck is that?”

“Irish.”

“No thanks, you’re already annoyin’ enough in English.”

Lenny didn’t bother to cover his mouth to spare Sean’s dignity this time, laughing fully and heartily and even Uncle, who up until this point had seemingly been snoozing just to the side of them, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, piped up with a chuckle. Sean’s face slipping straight back into a flush which reached the tips of his ears and clashed horrible with the orange flash of his hair. He crossed his arms about his chest, harumping and trying to cover up the fact that the gang's most beloved past-time was poking him with a stick and seeing how flustered it could get him. 

“Well, fuck me for tryin’ to introduce a little European charm to d’conversation.” He pushed himself up from where he was sat, hands clenched next to his thighs in tight, little fists until Arthur was grasping him back the back pocket of his work pants and dragging him back down. The _whumph_ of his ass against the tree trunk fashioned into a seat was muffled by Arthur consoling him,

“Sit down and stop being so dramatic.”

Javier slipped another beer bottle into Sean’s hands as a peace offering and the Irish boy sniffed once, then cracked it open and shut himself up by drinking. With Sean placated, the mood settled back into slightly less hostile chit chat, punctuated every now and again with a chorus of groans as Sean would pitch in with something ridiculous. At one point Javier had to physically restrain Sean from showing how he could smash a beer bottle with only his forehead. 

The evening itself was fine to boot, balmy and calm and Arthur could have quite happily fallen asleep in front of the fire with his friends. 

Until Micah showed his ratty, pinched face. 

Stumbling over to where they were sat, stinking of booze and the cheap cigarettes he would smoke. His boots kicked up the dirt next to Arthur, probably on purpose, and Arthur raised his head, uncaring of the way he knew he was just trying to get a rise out of him. Micah’s slimy smirk, framed by that crop of greasy hair, split across his face like someone took a knife to him, “Morgan. Thought I might find you with the outcasts.”

Arthur knew how Micah spoke. The way he’d phrase things and the intonations of his speech in which he’d imply a lot with very little. He might not have been spewing obscenities and slurs at that very moment, but he may have well have been. The haughty shift in the way he would form certain words was just as close to him being intolerant as when he’d flat out say cusses to anybody that wasn’t what he considered to be a real person. 

Arthur may have been a little slow sometimes, but he knew why Micah targeted the likes of Charles, Lenny and Javier, and quite frankly it made him sick. 

He opened his mouth to snap back at Micah, but Lenny’s hand laid itself on his knee, stopping him in his tracks, “Don’t. Just leave him, he’ll get bored.” 

Arthur sucked on his teeth, pressing his lips together for the sake of some peace and the fact that he knew Lenny was right. But the retort seemed to tumble all too naturally from his lips, the habit of wanting to put the dirty rat in his place was too comfortable to him.

“Do you have a problem, Micah? Got sick of pulling wings off flies or...Killing kittens, perhaps?”

The cackle that rocked through Micah was nasal and grated on Arthur, and more likely than not on everyone else sat around the fire too if the way Javier’s lip curled was anything to go by. The young man’s careful hand crept up his chest to grip the knife hung from a silver chain on one of the buttons of his waistcoat, and his fingers curled around it protectively. 

“Sometimes Morgan, you’re a real _hoot_.” He lit up another cigarette and it dangled precariously from his thin lips as he continued with a sneer, “Not as funny as how I seen you out _walkin’_ with that Indian.” 

As soon as the words had left Micah’s mouth, Arthur’s heart started racing a million miles an hour. His mind cycling through all the times in the last couple of weeks that he and Charles had spent some time together, but for the most part they’d just acted as usual. Gone hunting a few times, took a couple rides into Rhodes for Pearson. Nothing incriminating. On occasion they had taken a stroll around the camp, along the shoreline. Just to talk and spend time with one another, away from the noise of the camp. 

His voice was reedy as he stuttered, “What do you mean?”

There was no way that Micah had any idea of what was going on between the two of them, they had been incredibly careful with the way they conducted themselves. They’d hardly even kissed over the last few weeks, making sure that they were well away from anyone when they laid their lips on each other. More for their own peace of mind than the worry of anyone else, they weren’t too worried about most of the gang being cruel. Truly their only worry was Micah and his worrisome connections. They wouldn’t have expected anyone else but Micah to have the serpentine wiles to get the men in trouble with the local constabulary. Arthur didn’t want to think about what might happen if they were arrested, and he really wouldn’t put it past the man to rat them out like that. He was sure that Micah would find it as fun as he would shooting someone point blank in the head, regardless of gang code and rules. 

Arthur was sure that Micah would have happily swung in front of the gang if he could have felt the personal joy of ruining Arthur’s life.

So they had been as careful as they could when spending time together, and when they had taken an incredibly quick tumble with each other, it had been the dead of night.

Micah didn’t answer in the end, just took a seat opposite Arthur and continued to smoke his cigarette in the most menacing way Arthur had ever seen anyone smoke. It set his teeth on edge, the way Micah’s twitching smile twisted up underneath that ridiculous moustache. 

Lenny’s knee nudged him just as Arthur’s hands were curling into fists on his knees, “Leave it, Arthur.”

Leaving it entailed Arthur leaving the campfire entirely. Bidding Javier, Lenny and Sean a goodnight and then standing and swiftly walking away. No second look back to see whatever smug look was plastered across Micah’s face, surely full of glee at the knowledge that Arthur backing down was a win for him. He didn’t even look behind him when the distinct sound of Micah’s stalking steps crept at an uncomfortable distance as he marched himself down to the water's edge. 

He lit a cigarette for himself as he walked on, Micah hissing just to the left of him like the snake that he was, 

“Got nothin’ to say to me? That’s unlike you.” 

Arthur whipped round as soon as he was far enough away from the gang that their “conversation” wouldn’t be heard. He didn’t particularly want to embroil the rest of them into the spats, he never did. Even if ninety percent of the group would back him up, as he could list on one hand the amount of people who actually could stand Micah, let alone like him. 

Arthur’s teeth grit together, “I don’t know what you expect me to say.” He set his shoulders and took a drag of his cigarette, “I don’t always have to bite back at you when you’re being an asshole.” He tried to not even meet Micah’s eyes, he really didn’t want to give him the time of day but it was obvious that with a belly full of alcohol, that he was about to be completely abhorrent. Nothing out of the ordinary but there was a sly malice in Micah’s eyes tonight that Arthur had a sinking feeling was brought on by the fact Micah would tell when he’d hit a nerve with the other man.

Then pressed that nerve with a sharp fingernail, “You’re just mad because you know I see things that the others don’t. I’m observant like that. You ain’t sly, Morgan.” Micah had taken to circling like a vulture, thumbs tucked into his belt loops and nose risen high as he cast his eyes down on Arthur. Like he couldn’t contain the fact he looked down on him.

The sneer was back, tinging his voice as said, “I should toss you on your ass outta this camp for thinkin’ you can walk around, actin’ like you’re better than us when you’re putting four quarters on the spit with _that_.” 

Again, it wasn’t like he had cussed. It wasn’t like he’d said some of the things that Arthur had heard others, even more unscrupulous types than Micah (if that was possible), spit at Charles and Lenny. But the way that Micah had all but snarled the word, “that”.

It set something alight in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. The disgust and disdain in the way he spoke was pathetic, and as he wound up his arm he barely had time to think about anything other than exchanging his cigarette to his other hand before his fist was colliding with the jut of Micah’s cheekbone. 

The man was sent sprawling to the floor, and as he fell, behind him Hosea’s form was revealed. Just a ways away, a book in his hand and his eyes following the movement of Micah’s body hitting the floor with a thump. Arthur caught his eye, blinking at Hosea and waiting for him to come storming over and telling them both to sort themselves out.

But it never came. 

The older man simply turned his back to the violence, as if to say, “ _I’ll allow it this once, Arthur._ ” 

Arthur took the invitation heartily. 

The heel of his boot scuffed itself down into Micah’s solar plexus, grinding down into it and the wheeze that came out of the man below him brought a tight smile to Arthur’s lips. The groan of his ribcage as he pressed harder still was wonderful music. Micah was lucky he hadn’t put on his spurs that day, otherwise Arthur’s smile would have been just that bit wider. 

“You got somethin’ else to say to _me_ , Micah?” He drawled, content in being able to hold him down with just his boot. Micah not even bothering to push back too hard and Arthur could tell that the smack he’d given him had knocked him off kilter enough that he’d be on his ass for a good few moments still. “Anymore smart shit you want to spew from that nasty gash on your face?” 

Micah cackled wetly, throwing his head back against the sand. Borderline braying. 

“Oh, Morgan. You know, I could call you so many things—”

Arthur stamped once. Hard. Micah’s breath rattled around in his compressed chest, wheezing it’s way out of him as he laughed once more.

“You could. You ain’t gonna though.” Arthur ground out.

Micah shakily attempted to pull himself up, dragging his legs across the ground beneath him as he made to get himself up. Once he was on his feet, his unsettling laugh rocked through him again. His arm clenched around his aching middle and the first blooming of a pretty bruise unfurling across the high of his right cheek, something that made Arthur feel incredibly proud to see. 

His mouth flapped open, but Arthur intercepted before he had time to speak. 

“If you talk to me like that again, I’m gonna stamp so hard you ain’t ever gonna say a thing again.” He pointed back towards the camp, cigarette now back in his right hand, “And none of them people up there will give a shit once you’re gone.” 

He was done with this. Done with Micah. So he flicked the still lit cigarette at him and turned on his heel, setting off down the beach. The sharp cackle of Micah behind him until he was far away enough that he could take a deep breath and calm himself. The urge to shriek his contempt into the darkness of the tumbling night recessing back into his chest, and he settled for staring out at the water again. Just like he had with Hosea.

Someone approached from the side, and Arthur glanced up to see it was Charles. He’d probably heard the commotion and realised Arthur wasn’t in camp.

“I thought that was you.” Charles looked concerned as he approached Arthur, one hand going out to clasp Arthur’s elbow and squeeze, “Something the matter?” 

Arthur shook his head, he didn’t want to worry Charles with anything. All too often the man had a look spread across his face that made him look like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Arthur never wanted to burden him with his own problems. Even if those problems involved Micah catching wise of them spending time together in _that way_. 

“S’nothin’. Don’t worry none.”

Charles’ returning look was less concerned and more perplexed, “So, the fact Micah just waddled back into camp looking like he’d had seven shades of shit beaten out of him was...Nothing to do with you?”

Arthur’s eyes darted around, not wanting to settle on Charles’, “Well I...I might have walloped him. Pretty hard.” He paused, then added, “He deserved it.”

“I don’t doubt that. What did he do this time?”

Arthur threw up his arms, Charles’ question renewing the annoying inside him at Micah’s general presence, “He insinuated he has a problem with me being...Friendly with anyone that ain’t _like him_.” He didn’t need to be precise with what he said, the dark look in Charles’ eyes meant that he knew what Arthur was talking about. Arthur hesitated for a stifling moment, before deciding that he had nothing to lose from telling Charles the entirety of the encounter. 

“Stamped on him pretty hard.” He added.

Charles’ tongue darted out to wet his lips, “Y-yeah?”

_Ah._

Arthur had nothing to say, he just watched as a heat crept into Charles’ gaze and his hands tightened on where they were tucked around the string of his bow as it was laid out across his chest. 

“Did you hurt him?” Charles rasped. 

“ _Yes._ ”

He had just enough time to register that he needed to move his feet to avoid falling over, before he was being shoved with the full heft of Charles’ entire body weight against a tree that was just behind where they were stood. The younger man tore off the bow from his back and scanned the immediate vicinity, happy that there was no one around, then sunk to his knees. Hard enough that Arthur could see him wince. His hands scrabbled against the front of Arthur’s pants and when he’d gotten him out of them and then the buttoning of his long johns, he didn’t hesitate before almost stuffing Arthur into his mouth. 

Charles groaned, the sound semi muffled by the cock in his mouth, but loud enough that Arthur had to inhale sharply. He had been soft when his back had hit the tree, Charles obviously a lot more worked up than he was, but it didn’t take very long for him to get hard with the way Charles was sucking him down. His large, warm hands secured on Arthur’s thighs until he had to move one to hold the base of his cock, and he pulled away for a moment. Eyes unfocused and swimming as he peered up at Arthur, panting slightly, shoulders heaving up and down. 

Arthur stroked a hand across his face and tucked a piece of hair behind Charles’ ear, “You okay?” 

Charles nodded, opening his mouth and flattening his tongue so he could tap Arthur’s cock against it. The man above him shuddered out a laugh and took a hold of Charles’ hair. Curling his fingers into it and pulling his cock into his mouth, making Charles jump. His eyes fell shut and Arthur could feel the judders of the younger man’s moan against him. 

They really hadn’t had much time like this together at all. Save for that quick tumble out in the bushes, where Arthur had stroked Charles’ while pressing his own cock against his belly. He had come when Charles had rolled them over and clamped a hand over his mouth, pushing Arthur’s hand out of the way so he could press their erections together and then had laughed airily when Arthur had come all over his new shirt. Arthur had stopped grumbling when Charles came a moment later, slinking down to lick up the mess they’d made. 

Charles pulled back again, fumbling with Arthur’s pants and underwear and when he finally had enough purchase he pulled both of them down roughly. The creak of cotton heavy on Arthur’s ear and he almost had the mind to kick him with the toe of his boot and tell him not to be so rough with his one good set of underwear. 

The thought left his mind when Charles’ mouth attached itself to the inside of his thigh, and the noise Arthur made sounded so close to some of the noises he’d heard when he’d slid himself into a woman. It would have embarrassed him greatly, if he could care at that point. Charles’ teeth sunk into his skin, and then retreated, chasing the bite with the pressure of sucking once again. His hand still on his cock, but unmoving, which Arthur definitely wanted to change. 

It didn’t take long for Arthur to start losing composure, especially with Charles’ mouth back on him again. His tongue flat to the base of his cock as he bobbed his head on him, chin wet with spit and completely lost to the world in what he was doing. Arthur just had enough brain power with the way Charles’ warm mouth was moving on him to grab a hold of his hair again. Pistoning his hips into his mouth and watching the way Charles’ shoulders shook and he cracked open his eyes to look up at Arthur’s. Tears brimming the bottoms of them, but they were quickly blinked away and Charles’ view turned hot and steely. Like he was just waiting for Arthur to do something. 

Arthur gripped the back of Charles’ head _hard_ , something that in itself didn’t seem to do anything to Charles. He gasped damply when his head was yanked back at the last minute though, and Arthur’s cum painted the lower half of his mouth and neck with a sharp but low groan. 

It sat stark and glistening against the deepness of Charles’ skin and Arthur’s cock gave a weak twitch of interest as Charles sat back on his heels, eyes shut, panting. His hands spread across the thickness of his thighs, and he peeked an eye open. Cautious of whether or not it had gotten in his eyes.

When he was sure he wasn’t going to get any in his eyes, he blinked up at Arthur, voice shot to pieces as he said, “Feel better?” One hand moved up to tug the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his face, but Arthur’s hand caught him by the wrist and he held it back long enough to fall to his own knees and kiss Charles hard. Charles’ breath hot and shuddering against his mouth as he laughed into the kiss and cupped the back of Arthur's head tenderly. He held him there, hardly even kissing him after a while, mostly just dragging their mouths together.

Breathing in each other’s space and Arthur couldn’t stop himself from the way he clutched Charles to him. It was something that was easy to let become alien to you when you lived the way they did, simple acts of affection. It was like the way he craved validation and comfort from Hosea despite being a grown man. When he could touch Charles and hold him, it felt like he was allowing himself something almost confusing to him in the way it was so remarkable.

Charles seemed to understand, and he grazed his open hand over Arthur’s cheek, voice full of something that Arthur couldn’t quite pinpoint, “I need to...Tidy myself up.” Arthur whined in return and secured his own hand over the top of Charles’, then kissed him as many times as he could before Charles, laughing again, managed to pry Arthur away.

When they’d cleaned themselves up enough to look somewhat presentable, they laid back on the grass. Charles’ breathing still a touch laboured and Arthur grasped for his hand beside him, tangling their fingers when he found it, “Much better, by the way.”

Arthur could hear the grin in Charles’ voice even without looking at him, “Glad to help.” 

“You... _Uh_...Want me to help you out?” 

Charles waved a hand in front of him, “Let me just catch my breath a minute.” And out the corner of his eye, Arthur could see the man press the heel of his man into the front of his pants. Something that he couldn’t resist turning onto his side and looking at, letting his eyes travel over Charles with his dark, wet lips and his eyes closed as he breathed in and out steadily. He took the moment to lean down and press their lips together softly, watching as when he pulled away, Charles tried to move up to follow him, which had him chuckling gently. 

Arthur let himself fall back onto his back, crossing his hands on his chest and staring up at the blanket of night above them through the canopy of the trees. His head turned slightly as Charles spoke up, “God...I hate that man.”

“Micah?”

“Yes.” Charles’ lip curled, “Wish more people would stand up to him.”

Arthur _hmm_ -ed in agreement, “Although, if you hating him enough to suck the soul outta me through my cock when he gets hurt, then maybe he’s worth keeping around.”

Charles’ elbow was cutting as he jabbed it as hard as he could into Arthur’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again if you enjoyed pwease leave a kudos and perhaps a comment because look i got nothing else going on right now and i open ao3 and slap my big meaty hands together and go TIME TO REVIEW MY COMMENTS its the only joy i get
> 
> oh also, i tried very hard to not have there be like.....idk, explicit racism or homophobia in this because i don't feel like typing slurs and i don't think most people want to read them. sorry if it perhaps seems a little weird with dialogue but i just decided that i would try to keep micah menacing but not overtly saying stuff that i wouldn't particularly feel comfortable typing. hopefully that makes sense. 
> 
> twitter: @transmatty  
> tumblr: cowboyism


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sadie is the backbone of society

There was some sort of kerfuffle happening across camp, and Charles lazily turned his head away from where he was sat slicking up the tips of arrows with oleander, as Arthur read a book on botany next to him quietly. They often spent time just like that together, slightly less worried about what people thought of them spending “ _too much_ ” time together now that Hosea was so prone to threatening anyone who so much as looked at them wrong after the whole _Micah debacle_. 

Arthur noticed Charles staring and touched a soft hand to his knee, “Just Pearson grousin’ at Sadie.” 

Charles hummed in response and then placed down his arrows, “Should I intervene?” 

The laugh Arthur supplied was knowing, “Oh, I don’t think Mrs Adler ever needs saving.”

“I’m going to go see what the problem is.” 

“I’m not gonna stop you.” Arthur snorted a laugh at Charles, watching as Charles rose from where he was sat, “Come back here when you’re done though.” He raised his hand and Charles took it as if he were going to kiss it, like he were a lady at a fancy party. Fingers tucked underneath Arthur’s and his thumb stroking the second knuckles of his first two fingers, bumping along them and carefully watching the colour spring to the surface of Arthur’s freckled cheeks. “Stop it, someone’s gonna see.” Arthur murmured airily, and Charles smiled in return. 

“Afraid someone will know you’re actually soft-hearted? It’s fine. No one cares.” He promised, letting Arthur’s hand go after giving it a tender squeeze, “Dutch wanted to see you anyway.” 

Arthur groaned and let his head hang against his chest, then glanced back up at Charles, “You’re an awful spoilsport sometimes, maybe I wanted to sit with my man and enjoy some peace and quiet.” 

Immediately Arthur regretted using that turn of phrase, the tips of his ears going scarlet and Charles’ laugh was clipped and slightly shocked, “Oh, so I’m _your man_ now?”

Arthur stammered slightly in return, “Well—I—Y’see—”

Charles’ foot kicked him swiftly, but gently, in the shin and Arthur yelped. Charles crossing his arms in front of him and looking more amused than Arthur had seen him in days, “What’s making you think that by all rights I’m _yours_.” 

The older man swallowed, careful in the placement of his words, “Well, you ain’t anybody else's as far as I can see—”

“Arthur, I’m kidding. Don’t pull that face.”

Arthur huffed, his face a pretense of sourness, but the hand he reached out to cup the gentle curve of Charles’ hip said otherwise, “Jus’ don’t take too long.”

Sadie was brandishing a spoon as Charles made his way over to the chuckwagon, vaguely impressed with the way she was swinging it at Pearson who by all accounts seemed to be handling the situation pretty well by shouting right back at Sadie, tossing his apron to the side in agitation, “All I asked was for you to get some supplies!”

Sadie crossed her arms, weaponised spoon still in hand, “Well you ain’t say _please_.” Her tone haughty and Charles was quite enjoying watching it play out, but he was aware that Pearson would be in a foul enough mood to end up cooking even worse offerings than he usually did, so he took a step forward.

“I can come with you if you’d like, Mrs Adler?” He spread his palms slightly, just to show that he was at least attempting to be sincere in the offer and Pearson spoke up almost immediately, 

“Please, for the love of God, take this woman and get me my damn supplies. Before she kills both of us.” 

Sadie’s smirk was smug, “I would never hurt Mr Smith. You however—”

Charles managed to bundle Sadie, and her spoon, in the wagon before it came to blows between the two of them. Sadie bidding a particularly rude farewell to Pearson as Charles drove them out of camp, and then laughing as soon as they were out of earshot of the cook, “I suppose that was some fun mornin’ entertainment.” 

Charles’ face was flat as he mumbled, “You do seem to enjoy fighting with the man.” 

Sadie seemed to find that incredibly funny and she rocked in the seat next to his, grasping her knees and hooting, “He’s just too fun to rile up! And honestly, half the time there ain’t anything better to do. I only just managed to claw myself away from being part of Grimshaw’s gaggle.” She pulled a face that didn’t look unlike the one Arthur was pulling earlier, “I don’t mind at all doing the work it’s just—” She threw her hands up exasperatedly “—that woman is a harpy.”

Charles couldn’t argue with that, all too often he’d find himself wincing at the sound of Ms Grimshaw’s voice reverberating around the camp and twisting inside his head. He’d always been a bit sensitive to certain sounds, especially if they were loud, and boy did that woman’s voice make an awful din sometimes. Like a cattle bell being rung one too many times. 

He made a soft noise of agreement, guiding the horses round the curling roads, “Hm. You’re not wrong.”

When they arrived in Rhodes, it was closer now to noon than to morning, and people were out in full bustle. A dog chased a small child around in front of the butcher’s stall, and a man with a bottle clutched in his wrinkled hand dozed lazily on a bench in the sun. Sadie tapped his thigh when she noticed him looking, and as she tucked her hair under the brim of her hat to keep her neck cool, she said, “Thinkin’ about coming and living in the town like the regular folk?” 

Charles bristled, “I think I’d have to be insanely bored to want that.” 

The wagon was parked next to the general store, Sadie jumping down off her seat and planting her hands on her hips as she took a glance over the people wandering down the main street, “I think you’re probably right about that. Here, you wait here while I go get the list to the clerk.” Charles had yet to even get himself off of the wagon before Sadie was taking charge, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest, but he frowned all the same.

“You don’t want any help?” His voice was soft as he spoke, and in answer Sadie just shrugged. 

“Not that I can think of, you just sit there and wait.” 

Charles was never too sure if the feelings he had for Sadie were of admiration or of fear. She was a woman to be reckoned with, he knew that, despite the fact he hadn’t seen her in action. Of course he had heard from Arthur the tale of her last supply trip into Rhodes, where a gunfight had been instigated and Sadie had held her own entirely. How she also seemed to find a great amount of joy in gunning down Lemoyne Raiders, gun poised perfectly and hollering at the men. It was hard to imagine this tiny woman, who only a while ago had been a quivering mess after what happened at the cabin, unloading a barrel of fury into a group of men. But also, on the other hand, it wasn’t hard to imagine that at all. 

There was something about Sadie that intrigued Charles. She was so quick to bite back, and she had little care for her own safety half the time, even in arguing with Pearson. She was like a woman unleashed upon the world and the world was just going to have to accept that she was the way she was. 

Maybe he felt both admiration _and_ fear. It would make sense.

He watched with a brimming sense of amusement as Sadie marched out of the general store, crates of supplies in her arms and a boy in tow, looking just as frightened as Charles expected a young man to look at her. 

He was quite enjoying this little trip so far. 

The wagon dipped and bounced back up as the supplies were loaded, Sadie’s voice raised above the sounds of the town as she told the boy to be careful. Smacking a playful hand onto his shoulder and Charles couldn’t help but grin as the boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch, then rubbed the area as soon as he placed down what was in his own arms. Arms that seemed like tiny twigs compared to Sadie’s, despite the fact that wasn’t even that much bigger than him in size or stature. Just the way that she held herself overlooked the poor boy. 

They returned once more into the store to pick up the last of the supplies, Sadie’s eyes rolling as the boy stumbled slightly down the steps and she ground out, “Come here.” Then put down what was in her arms to grab the top crate off the boy’s pile of supplies, dumping it onto her own and then picking it up with an audible grunt but no more than that. 

“You’re a strong woman, Mrs Adler.” Charles praised, with what he hoped wasn’t an odd thing to say to a woman, but by the way Sadie was beaming proudly after placing the last of the supplies onto the wagon and standing with her hands on her hips again, she took it well.

“I sure am!” 

It caught Charles off guard, the way the laugh bubbled up at him at Sadie’s words and the way she looked so pleased with herself for receiving a compliment about her strength. Maybe she was just too used to comments about her looks, which were definitely something, but Charles could imagine it would leave you feeling rather blasé about the process of being praised. 

Sadie hefted herself back onto the wagon, planting her ass on the seat and as she brushed the sawdust from the bottom of the crates off her pants she commented, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh properly.”

Charles didn’t comment, but let Sadie pat him on the shoulder and take the reins from his hands, giving him a big, broad smile and adding, “I’ll drive home, tough guy.”

It didn’t take Charles long to realise that Sadie was taking a very scenic route home, and when he brought it up to her, her eyes didn’t leave the dirt road in front of them as they trundled down it, “Hey, why don’t we take a little rest up here and have a drink. I bought us some sarsaparillas from the store.” She took a hand off the reins to fan her neck as if to prove that she really was hot when Charles’ eyebrows dipped, and she continued gingerly, “It _is_ mighty hot today, and honestly, I don’t want to see Mr Pearson just yet.”

“Well, I can understand that.”

Sadie snorted.

It didn’t take long for Sadie to find a suitable spot to park up the wagon, tossing the reins to the side and letting herself down so she could pat the shire they had driving the thing. Smacking the mare on her flank affectionately and then stealing an apple from the supply crates to offer up to her, muttering a few comments to the horse tenderly that she was doing a good job which had Charles wondering if the woman ever spoke to other humans like that.

Sadie rummaged around in the back after that, shoving a few things out of the way and when her hands clasped around the sweating bottles of sarsaparilla she cried, “A-ha!” And yanked them out, jangling them together in Charles’ vague direction, “Get down off that seat and come and plant your ass back here with me.” 

The wagon creaked as Charles lowered himself down, he wasn’t particularly good with one on one social situations, unless it was Arthur of course. But otherwise, he found it hard to supply to the conversation the right amount of chatter. It was a tough process, he had found. To learn enough about another person to comfortably sit with them and talk as one might at a lunch outing, like the ladies in the saloons would. Even then he didn’t think those women he saw sitting and speaking to each other particularly liked each other very much. 

The bottle was shoved his way as soon as he was close enough, and Sadie whacked her bare palm on the wood of the wagon’s open back, “Sit your ass here.”

Charles didn’t argue, just sat next to her. Hand clasped so hard around the bottle that any tighter and it might have shattered against the soft flesh of it.

They sat for a while, Sadie’s legs swinging off the edge of the wagon and it was another thing Charles had to add to the list of things he didn’t expect from her, along with whispering sweetly to horses. She looked like a small child, sarsaparilla in hand and legs dangling. It was sweet, strangely. She must have noticed him watching her and she chortled, “You ain’t much of a talker, are you?”

She laughed even harder when Charles’ response was simply, “No.”

The sweeping feeling of bashfulness crept over Charles and he stammered out, “I spend a lot of time by myself, I’ve gotten a little too used to not speaking.”

Sadie rolled her eyes, “Lord, I remember when Jakey and I were young and just going steady, so we was spending a lot of time together. As a teen he would not stop talkin’.” Her hand twisted on the bottle of soda in it, voice a little terse as expected from a woman speaking about her late husband, “And I loved him obviously I did…” She chuckled quietly and added, “But did also used to wish he’d stop talkin’ so much shit too.”

The laugh that stumbled out of Charles was less of a surprise this time, as if he were getting more used to finding the joy in things other people would say, and Sadie’s face was a picture of pure triumph at the sound of it. Tucking a few strands of hair that had fallen from her hat back up underneath it as she exulted, “Glad I could be such a source of amusement.” As soon as she had said it though, her mouth fell and her bottom lip was chewed between her teeth worrisomely, “Y’know, sometimes it does look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders. Think you might need a laugh.”

Charles’ didn’t quite understand, “That’s just what my face looks like.”

Sadie peered at him skeptically, “Y’know, just because I seem tough and scary, it doesn't mean I don’t know how to sit and listen.” The clipped tone to her voice returned, “When Jake died I spent a lot of time letting other people listen to my woes.” She swallowed around a dry mouth, “Maybe it’d be nice to give back a little.”

Ah. It dawned on him.

He knew that she had been present, that one single time he had opened himself up to a cluster of people as they sat around the fire months and months ago. He had a vague memory of flicking his eyes up as he had spoken and Sadie had been sat off to the side, a plate of food in her lap and a curious look in her eyes. It had been when he had spoken about feeling stuck. Feeling lost and ostracised, even amongst his peers. He remembered it well as it had made him feel almost sick afterwards, to know that people could know about him. But oh did he crave the idea of being accepted and simply liked, yet often wondered to himself at the same rate if it was enough to be put through the ordeal of exposing himself. 

He knew how he could come off. 

“Sometimes I just can’t quite find the right words, and often I find it hard to understand what other people are feeling...I know that it makes people think I’m standoffish and cold.” He shrugged, legs dangling off the back of the wagon and eyes downturned entirely. Not wanting to look at Sadie as he spoke, “I want to be accepted as much as the next person, but sometimes it’s hard. I’m good at making it hard.”

“You don’t owe anyone friendship.” Sadie supplied, obviously trying to be helpful, but Charles pressed on,

“No, no. It’s not that.” He sighed, a quiet, soft sound that came out involuntarily with the thick, thudding of his heart, “I just wonder if it’s as hard for everyone else as it is for me.”

“I think perhaps you’re just not realising how liked you are amongst camp.” She thrust her hand out, not even pointing in the correct direction to camp from where they were sat but Charles didn’t bring it up as much as he wanted to point it out, “I bet if you were to ask anyone back there, they wouldn’t have a bad word to say about you!” She pulled a leg up so her foot was tucked onto the lip of the wagon where they were sat, resting her rosy cheek onto her knee and grumbling, “Even if they did, I’m sure I’d have something to say about it.” 

Charles snorted, “We barely know each other.”

“So?”

Charles couldn’t really argue with that one.

“Anyway,” she sniffed, “we all do things differently. Ain’t no right way to live...You could’a ended up any kind of way after being born. Could’a ended up dead a long time ago...or been a lawman.”

Charles glanced at her, then cast a hand towards himself, “I don’t know that I could have been a lawman.”

“Hm. Good point.”

They settled back into silence for a moment, both of them swinging their legs off the back of the wagon in tandem.

Lemoyne was a fairly neutral state in Charles’ mind, afterall it was just land, but he had to agree with Arthur when he would wax poetic about how beautiful it was to just sit and enjoy the weather. As fine a pursuit as any, not that Charles ever felt like he had enough free time to sit and laud over the fact it was a wonderful day, but if Arthur could find some joy in being able to take his horse out for a walk and come back slightly pink from the sun and big beaming smile spread across his face then it wasn’t too bad. Mostly he was aware and thankful of the absolute bounty of herbs, wild vegetables and berries that littered the state; not to mention wildlife. Perhaps he could understand the whole, “ooh isn’t it a lovely day” chit chat attitude when most of the time they’d spent in the state it had been sunny. Not once had he been caught in a storm while picking raspberries and such. 

As he cast his eyes up to the sun that beamed down on the two of them, he wondered if he would be enjoying this as much as he was if it had been overcast. 

Sadie swore next to him suddenly, swatting away a fly and cursing at it, “Didn’t have these huge bastards back up in the mountains.” 

He didn’t even need to think about what he was doing before Charles had dug a hand into his little pouch, pulling out a round, flat, metallic tin and then scooped a slick of the mixture onto his fingers, “Tilt your head.” 

Sadie looked a bit worried for a moment, “Wha’s that?”

“I don’t know what it’s called in English. It’s good for keeping flies off, made of sweet basil. Just a salve. See.” He dabbed a little onto his own skin, “They hardly ever bother me when I have this on. I gave some to Arthur and he swears by it now.”

“ _Mhm_.” Sadie’s voice was a bit too clever, “That’s very kind of you, giving presents and all.” But she leant her head to the side anyway, Charles sweeping some of the hair that had once more fallen from under her hat out of the way. She jumped a little when the cool ointment was touched to her and she actually _giggled_ when she did, “Sorry, didn’t expect it to be so cold when it’s been in your little bag this whole time.” He daubed it onto her carefully, wiping the excess off on his pants and she tucked her hands onto her hips proudly when it was done, “Try and get me now you fly sons’a’bitches.” 

Charles grinned at her, he wouldn’t have said anything then, but it was the most fun he’d had with someone outside of Arthur in a while. 

“You know, I would like to be friendlier with people. I didn’t even attend Sean’s party...Was keeping watch. Afterwards, I wished that I had.” He tucked the salve back into his satchel and took up his bottle of soda again, taking a smooth drink of it and then wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, “Not like I’m going anywhere for a while.”

Sadie’s eyebrows raised, “What does that mean?”

Very quickly Charles garbled, “I just like where I am.”

Sadie’s hand patted him on the back reassuringly, “I’m glad. I’m glad of it.” She _clinked_ their bottles together in a tiny cheers, “Really though, thanks for the fly stuff, might have to get you to make me my own.” Her lips tugged into a smile, “Unless of course it’s a special gift for only Arthur and yourself.” To which Charles flapped his hands in front of himself, 

“No! Of course no! I can make you some anytime, that’d be something I’d be more than happy to do.” 

“I’m teasin’!” Sadie squawked happily.

An idea came upon him, “Would you like to go hunting with me some time?”

Sadie’s eyes lit up in a way that Charles hadn’t seen them do before, “I’d like that a lot! Jake and I would go duck hunt together sometimes, further south. He was a bit useless. Shot himself in the foot once…” 

He didn’t quite understand why when Sadie would speak about her late husband his mind would dredge up the image of Arthur and, as his face turned pensive all of a sudden, he asked her tentatively, “Were you ever worried when he would go off by himself?”

There was no hesitation as she said, “Of course. We lived in the middle of the mountains, in the middle of nowhere! I would have been crazy not to.” She paused to lick her lips, maybe to allow herself time to breathe and get her next words out, “It’s so incredibly hard to not think about what’s going to happen to your husband as soon as he takes...Took….As soon as he left the cabin.”

“Is there any way to lessen the worry?”

Sadie’s face was unreadable as she said very slowly, “I guess...Trustin’ them is the only way.” A strained laugh rumbled it’s way out of her, “At least if you’re worried, that’s a sign you do love them.”

The ‘hm’ Sadie got in response was enough to suggest that they were probably done with that conversation by then, so she placed down her drinks bottle and patted her thigh, “I appreciate that offer to go huntin’, every now and again I really do need some time away from camp. Just to be able to go and shoot, breathe some air. Unwind, y’know.”

“I would be happy to make you your own bow, if you’d like.”

“That’d be mighty kind, thank you!” She cradled a hand over her forehead, looking at the position of the sun, “Maybe we should get back now. Pearson’s gonna have both our hides if we spend too much time shootin’ the shit.” 

So their empty bottles of soda were deposited back into the bed of the wagon, Charles pulling himself back up onto the riding seat of it and then offering a hand to Sadie who took it gladly (and slightly surprisingly), hefting herself up and re-taking the reins (slightly less surprisingly). The shire stamped her hoof against the grass, eager to get going again and so they set off at a trundle, rattling down the road backwards camp. 

Maybe this had been some sort of knowing plan on her part, but Charles felt...better, somehow. More open. As if he could now happily sit with Sadie anytime and talk freely with her. Perhaps it was just a case of him needing time with people. Whatever it had been, he was glad that she had suggested it, and he felt no worry of nervousness as he asked her, “Do you think you’ll ever want to find someone else?”

She shook her head, “It’s not something I’ve thought about. I ain’t never been one to think that you need someone else to make you...A whole person, you know? I’m my own person regardless of who I got with me, if anyone at all.”

Charles’ passing comment had her face going red though as he mused, thumb and forefinger tucked around his chin, “I just wondered, considering how you look at Abigail sometimes.”

The noise that came out of Sadie wasn’t really a screech, but Charles couldn’t quite put his finger on what it could be likened to. Obviously he had caught Sadie off guard though, judging by the way her shoulders raised and her head tucked down into it bashfully, and it always amused him to no end how red white people could go when you embarrassed them even slightly. He quite enjoyed bugging Arthur that way. 

“Well, that don’t mean nothin’! Women don’t go about marrying other women!” She spluttered tartly. 

Charles tilted his head towards her, “Sadie, I grew up on a reservation…”

She squinted at him, “Okay?”

“So...Our ideas of certain things are very different than a,” He waved his hand trying to find the right way to describe what he meant, “European way of thinking. I grew up with a culture of people who don’t necessarily hold all those...weird values colonial Americans do. I don’t see any problem with it.”

“Well, even if that is the case...Not nice to embarrass someone about their feelings.” She sniffed haughtily, “Abigail deserves a real man.”

“...Like you?”

Sadie cackled hard at that, slapping a hand on her knee in joy, “Yes! Yes, just like me!”

She was still chortling to herself as she led the wagon back into camp, just in time for them to encounter Pearson who was walking around from the chuckwagon, apron back on along with a sourpuss look written across his face and he griped immediately, “There you are! Where the hell have you been? I sent you out hours ago!”

There was some sort of joy in Sadie’s voice as she replied, “Oh, do shut up or I’ll poison your bottle, you old nag!”

When Charles was finished unloading the wagon, he rejoined Arthur who looked soaked through, and when Charles stared, simply said, “Fishing. You know how it is with trout.” 

“Ah.” Charles answered. 

(He didn’t know.)

“Have fun then?” Arthur hummed as they retook their places from hours ago, Arthur, with dripping hands, taking up his book and leafed to the page he was on earlier, “Sadie not too much of a handful?”

Charles shook his head, already searching for a spare tin to create a salve for the woman, “No, she was fine. It was nice. I had...fun.” 

Arthur didn’t even stop the surprise that laced his voice, “M’glad.” But he did take one of Charles’ hands and press a quick, secretive kiss to his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi please consider commenting and leaving kudos bc i love feedback and validation
> 
> im also debating opening up some...idk what you'd call them, fic suggestions?? 
> 
> nothing needed except dropping me something u might like see at either of these places
> 
> twitter: transmatty  
> tumblr: cowboyism


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i adore javier, everyone on twitter knows this i adore him, so..................2 chapters coming up involving him bc i can :)

It hadn’t taken much convincing at all for Javier to persuade Arthur to come fishing with him, Arthur’s protest of, “I can’t fish with you, you’re too good”, swept away with the wave of Javier’s hand and when he had chirped, 

“Oh come on, come on. Hey, join me. I’ll show u a couple of my tricks!” Arthur had to agree. 

Javier had this certain air of boyish charm, despite the fact he was probably closer to thirty than to a teenager, and Arthur had always felt it challenging to say no to him when occasions were suggested. There had been the famous outing where he, Bill and Javier had gone out drinking to a local saloon. Nothing too out of the ordinary, nothing too riotous. Until of course Javier had convinced Bill and Arthur to entertain him with a wrestling match on the banks of the Flat Iron Lake, and wrestled they had. With full force and gusto, a couple of whiskeys knocked back and it had been all fun and games until Bill had smashed Arthur’s head into the ground. It had startled him into a rage, and when Arthur had looked to the side to see what Javier was doing during all of this, he was sat with his legs crossed and a bottle of beer that he’d gotten from who knows where clasped in his hand. 

Lounging like a Roman emperor watching the Gladiators fight lions.

When Javier had suggested it though, it really had seemed like a good idea. 

They rode out across to the spot where Javier had spoken of, Javier bemoaning the English language and Arthur snickered, he was in no way the right man to be asking of language usage. There were days when he thought that Javier had a better grasp on English than he did, and of course he had that wonderful, dulcet way of speaking that charmed many of the working girls in towns. 

Javier had been right about the spot, as they hitched up their horses and sorted out their fishing gear, Arthur took a moment to take in what could only be described as a deep, settling serenity. Regardless of whether there were fish to catch, it might have been enough to spend some time with the man he considered one of his brothers there, and he knocked his knuckles into Javier’s chest lightly, 

“Real pretty place, huh.” 

Without his usual bowler hat of choice, it was easy to see the way Javier’s eyes almost sparkled with glee at Arthur’s words, “The prettiest.”

It reminded him of summers after they’d picked up John, of course they had been running and gun fights but, there had been a degree of obligation to allow the younger of the two boys something of a childhood. Especially in the beginning when he’d been rake thin, with huge staring eyes that looked straight through you, and would twitch if anyone raised their voice too loud. 

Hosea had made sure that at least sometimes they’d go fishing together, or take a stroll through the countryside, something about airing one's lungs and spending time together as a family. At the time Arthur had found it insanely dull, trudging around a field with a ratty little brat and his old man telling tales that he had already heard a thousand times. 

He looked back on those times with such nostalgia it was almost painful.

They made their way down to a small section of the river, a circular, shaded area where Arthur could make out the flitting colours beneath the surface of the water as the fish that Javier had promised. The idea of them being tucked into his bag for dinner a lot more promising now that they were actually there, stood beneath the canopy of the gently rustling trees. The light filtering through in thick shards and when they hit Arthur’s shoulders he bristled with the sensation. The sensation that could only come from mid-afternoon, cusp of summer, sun.

He inhaled deeply, making sure to place his feet carefully as he picked a place to set himself up, tossing a hand over his eyes to shield it from the cascade of the sun across his face, as he watched Javier move just around to the side. Once again the younger man looked as if he was about to meet the fanciest woman he knew and take her out to the city, and Arthur had to let out a titter, “You ever go anywhere without making sure you’re...What’s it called? Colour coordinated?” 

Javier rolled his eyes, a motion which Arthur could just about see from where he was standing, “Could you attempt to hide your jealousy?”

Truly there was nothing Arthur liked more than a little friendly bickering, and he was forever glad that Javier indulged him.

After a while of enjoying each other’s company and the weather, Arthur tilted his hat up and wiped his brow. Feeling a little bit short changed at the amount of fish Javier seemed to be almost plucking from the water, “Hey. You know you were speaking about Mexico earlier?”

Javier’s head rose at the mention of the country, and much like every other time it was brought up, his mouth twisted sharply. It always reminded Arthur of the face Jack would pull when he took a tumble, as if he was trying to stop himself from crying in front of the adults. Maybe Javier wanted to stop himself from openly weeping about his home as well. 

“Yes?” Was all Javier said in response. 

Arthur knew when he was touching on something that was full of emotions he may have never understood, but he pressed on. He just wanted to know more about Javier, away from the machismo and bullheaded ways of some of the other men about camp.

“You must miss it a lot, and to know you can’t go back—” He paused to lower his fishing rod, “—I’m real sorry for it.”

Javier had had a lot of time to perfect keeping many of his feelings towards his home at bay, it had probably been around the time he had his throat slit that he had learned that sometimes you had to stand tall and pretend for the sake of your own self, that things could and would be better than they were at the moment. He may not have made it to where he was at that moment if he hadn’t steeled himself to the fact that yes, he did feel. He felt things very deeply and passionately. 

His smile was wistful and his eyes glassy as he lamented, “I do miss it. Every day I think about it. Less so now that I have you all but…” He shrugged a shoulder, body slipping into a posture of despondency, “Mostly I miss my family, I was very close with my grandmother and my sister.” His eyes didn’t leave the centrical ripples of the water in front of him, “There was a lot I learned from the women in my family.” 

“That why you keep yourself so clean?”

Arthur’s joke seemed to be enough to lift the mood, and Javier’s eyes wrinkled at the edges as he sniggered at it. Touching a hand to his hip and standing with it cocked, “Well I certainly didn’t learn it from any of you filthy mongrels.” The change in tone even had him raising his fishing rod again, and he cast his line as he spoke again, “When my sister and I were very little we would spend a lot of time with our grandmother. She was old, even then, and her fingers would become stiff sometimes. She was very, very strong, but I guess even if you are in spirit, you may not be in body as you get older.”

Arthur didn’t speak up, letting Javier talk, but he nodded as he spoke of his grandmother, reminded thoroughly of Hosea, and he swallowed against the gathering lump in his throat. Listening on to his friend as he beamed, the size of his smile stretching his cheeks right to the apples, making him look so young. 

“We would sit at the front of her house. Sit right at her feet, and she would shield us from the sun with her body, sometimes to make us laugh she would open her shawls like a great big bird. And together all of us would cook, or she would tell us stories, or if she wanted some peace she would let us sew. My sister was always mad that I was better with a needle and thread, my designs were much more...Fun, than hers. Mexican summers can be so hot as well, but no matter how much we sweated, we were so happy to sit on the huge woven rug on the porch...” 

His hands twisted the reel towards him, and Arthur could tell he was less concentrated on the task at hand and more at remembering, “As I said though, she had gotten old, and now instead of her rolling tamale for us, we would fold them up for her. She never complained about the pain though, as if she didn’t want us to worry.”

He stopped for a second, hands stilled on the fishing rod, “My mother and my grandmother were very alike in that way. I wish sometimes now that people who love you would simply let you know when they are suffering, but they don’t, to spare you that.”

Arthur had little to say to that comment. He didn’t particularly want to think too hard on it, so he simply said, “The way you talk about your family is...Well, it’s charming, if I do say so myself.” He huffed a laugh, “I think maybe I could imagine myself there if you talked enough.” 

The look Javier gave him was borderline bashful, “Oh! Well, I really do think about it a lot.” He turned his head towards the trees as he continued, “While I am here, you are all my family and I am thankful for you but...Sometimes I just think about how I’m not from here. My roots aren’t in this land, and I come here and have to learn a whole new life, a new language...I’m proud of myself, yes. But—” He sniffed, “—You know, I often wonder what it’s like for Charles.” 

Arthur’s head whipped up, fishing rod completely forgotten now as he murmured, “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s two whole things that you people hate for too many complicated reasons. He once spoke about how he felt stuck in this land...And that he doesn’t know why he was born.” Javier sounded so solemn all of a sudden, like he had the deepest pity in his heart for Charles, “I think he has forgotten a lot of his mother’s traditions, and he barely knew his father past the drink. I think he feels as though he will never live a life that’s settled. He doesn’t have the memories that I have of my family.”

The tightness in Arthur’s chest and throat gripped him suddenly. What was there to say to that? He’d never heard anything from Charles about him having those sorts of feelings…

Maybe he didn’t feel like Arthur could ever begin to imagine how it felt to live as he did.

That thought alone made him feel so miserable that he had to clear his throat, shifting from foot to foot nervously, and he could tell that Javier noticed. The younger man folded up his fishing rod, tucking away before jogging over to where Arthur was standing, ramrod straight and even the tan from the fine weather seemed to have dissipated as he turned a pallid shade of pink. 

Javier’s hand clapped itself onto Arthur’s arm, Arthur acutely away that the younger man had probably noticed he was finding it hard to breath, “Recently he has seemed a lot...Lighter, though. Happier, perhaps? I think?” He shook his head, laughing, his hair swaying around his now rosy cheek, “It’s hard to tell sometimes with that man, we’ve noticed it though. A change.”

There was reason for Arthur to dig into why Javier was trying to comfort him about Charles, much like the way Mary-Beth had spoken to him before he and Charles had come together. But the thought alone was enough to make his stomach churn, and his vision to go a little cloudy. He didn’t need other people pitying him. Or sticking their noses into any kind of burgeoning love affair.

He distracted the matter by croaking, “Who is ‘we’?”

“Sean, Lenny and I.”

“You sure do spend a lot of time with those boys.”

Javier’s eyed went wide just long enough for Arthur to catch notice of it, but then they slipped back into that casual glance that Javier permitted most things, and he shrugged one again, “We’re the youngest. More interesting to spend time with them than spend all my time with you old men.”

Arthur returned it with a sly grin, glad to have forgotten the subject of Charles. Javier, not making eye contact as the older man packed up his own fishing gear, giving a rueful glance to the fishing spot. He would have to return at some point, just to sit and draw by himself. Javier’s eyes still avoided his own as they unhitched the horses, their muzzles lazily rising as the men attached the gear to them, ceasing their munching of the pasture. Arthur could tell as he looked at the other man, in the way his moustache twitched, that perhaps those three boys together was a little more suspicious than he suggested. Like they were up to no good in some way.

He would have to ask around to see if any homesteads had been cased, or robbed. 

As they pulled themselves on their horses, Javier petting a hand over Boaz’s mane, he hummed thoughtfully, “I do hope Charles finds some sort of peace...Like the kind I’ve found. Even amongst all this...Blood and running.” 

Arthur simply nodded once more, the reigns of Clem clutched in his nervously sweaty palms, “I’m glad that you’re happy where you are.”

The horses chuffed, confused as to why they were still stationary and the men shushed them quietly. Javier’s voice was strangely tight as he confessed to Arthur, “While I’m in this country, I just want something to keep me grounded, and if it’s enough, I could make a home here forever.” 

Arthur’s brows furrowed, “Even if it meant missing home forever?”

The heel of Javier’s hand swiped across his eyes, and Arthur didn’t press the fact that he had obviously shed a few tears, “Ha,” Javier said, a tinge of resentment to his tone, “Well, I guess I am just hunting for something to outweigh the love I have for my home.”

“I hope you find it, Javier.”

“I hope so too.”

Javier broke the moment of almost sibling-like awkward tenderness with the flick of a match against his heel, for them both to light cigarettes off. Arthur leaning forward on Clementine and nodding his head in thanks as the match was lifted to the cigarette tucking between his lips. A mumbled thank you joining it a moment later, as was a quick tug of the reins to get the horses moving off back towards the meadows.

The older man cleared his throat after a moment, his voice slightly garbled as he spoke with the cigarette still stuck in his mouth, “Hey, how’d you say, “‘I had a great time’ in Spanish?” 

Javier’s mouth was incredibly tight, as if to hold something back as he answered, “Oh. Uh. ‘¡Métetelo por el culo!’ should cover it pretty well.” 

Arthur’s smile was so joyous that Javier almost debated retracting that but the surge of power that washed over him at the fact that Arthur would believe anything he would say was too strong and he merely slapped Arthur on the back and said, “Go on! Give it a go! ¡Métetelo por el culo!”

Javier’s chest didn’t stop hurting from attempting to contain the laughter within him till they were both back on their horses and halfway back to camp. 

Arthur seemed to have cottoned on at that point, “Are you making an ass of me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Javier raised his chin, nose to the air and Arthur watched the way his lips trembled with barely held back gasps of laughter, but decided that seeing Javier so merry was probably worth being made a clown of. He would have to ask John what it meant when they returned, he was the only other member of the camp that had a basic grasp on the language. Something that Arthur was a bit baffled by, going off of the fact that John could barely speak English most mornings. 

The mosquitos were already buzzing as they rode leisurely back through Scarlet Meadows, Arthur regaling Javier with a story of how he’d found and rode a donkey up at some poor man’s farm, something that Javier wasn’t particularly impressed by but he did enjoy the mental picture of a man of Arthur’s size sitting himself upon an ass. He probably had looked so proud of himself for it. 

Arthur flapped a hand through a cluster of midges, spluttering a bit and blinking. Then, when he had regained his vision, the cornflower blue of something caught his eye. Just off in the distance, past where a few boulders lay in the field they had taken a shortcut through. 

Javier’s own gaze followed Arthur’s and he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun to get a better view. The shock of blue against the grass probably not too noticeable to the average person, but the two of them were far too wary of most of what the world could quite easily throw at them and so sharpening your senses to everything was a must. 

About two hundred and fifty metres off stood a lone wagon, bereft of anyone or anything. But as their horses trotted ever closer that very specific cornflower blue made more sense and Arthur groaned loudly enough that Javier’s head whipped towards him, his hand twitching down to his holster, “Problem?”

“Perhaps. Play it cool.” 

Javier blew out a puff of air, blustering his hair that was draped over his forehead out his eyes and he huffed, vaguely jovially for a situation where he wasn't sure at all if he should be worried, “Friends of yours?” His fingers curled defensively around the barrel of his Cattleman revolver, tendons of his wrist pulled taut as his eyes fluttered between the men now emerging smugly from the rocks and Arthur. Repeaters held threateningly aloft and Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed tensely. 

Attempting to figure out if it was going to be easier, and safer, to shoot not rather than later. There were only two of them and it seemed as though there were at least six of the other men. Arthur’s brain rushed ever so helpfully to the fact that he had probably shot a lot more than six of their men since they had arrived in Lemoyne and he couldn’t tell if it was the heat of the battering sun or the tension of the current situation that had a droplet of sweat rolling down his forehead and landing salty and stinging into his eyes. 

Javier spoke quietly next to him, “Following your lead.” 

Arthur had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes, “Now when on earth did that ever help us out.” 

Then continued the nerve-racking trot towards the men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hEY hi, once again i am asking you to comment and kudos if you enjoyed bc i eat that shit up, babey!!!!!!!
> 
> u can find me:
> 
> twitter: transmatty  
> tumblr: cowboyism


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my schedule is just out the window at this point im like :) hmmm im bored i'll update the charthur fic!

There was no preamble to the sudden barrage of bullets that struck through the air surrounding the two of them. Save for one man who grunted, “ _You_ ”, as soon as he could see Arthur’s face properly. Eerily similarly to the wild boar that roamed the area. Then spat on the dusty ground to the side of him. It was almost comical, to see the sneer twisting his face, and the fact that the mere mention of Arthur apparently was bitter and nasty enough in the mouth of these men that they had to physically spit it out on the floor. 

Luckily enough, the men that were blocking their path were the worst shots Arthur had seen since they arrived in the state. He supposed that he had probably taken out some of the better shots in the past couple of weeks inadvertently, and what was left were the truly terrible of the bunch. It didn’t help that the men themselves were old now. Old and ruined by years of drinking and disenfranchisement. It was almost pathetic to see them attempt to come to blows with the two young men but Arthur was also aware that wasn’t the only thing they were. 

The raiders were remnants of the Confederates, and a handful of willfully stupid young men who held just as racist views as the veterans, and if Arthur despised anything more than Pinkertons; it was a gaggle of moronic racists. Which honestly, more likely than not, the Pinkertons were that as well anyway. 

Their aim was off entirely, the bullets whizzing past both Javier and Arthur and out the corner of his eye Arthur saw Boaz rear up, whinnying loudly as Javier tried to control the horse. His hands strained on the reins as he pulled them towards him and said something in Spanish to the horse that Arthur didn’t understand entirely, but at least could identify as something soothing. It worked for the most part, the horse bearing back down on the ground as Javier fired off a few rounds, clipping two of the men and they tumbled gracelessly to the ground in two separate heaps. 

It was then that a single bullet skidded past Javier, grazing him in the leg and making him curse loud enough that it actually startled Arthur. Boaz didn’t bolt, and Arthur thanked God for small mercies, but the gash in Javier’s leg didn’t look all too good with the way it was oozing blood down his thigh. Deep and rusty against the bright blue of his jeans. 

“Get the hell back to camp, I’ll deal with this.” Javier didn’t seem to need to be told twice and Arthur leapt down off of Clementine as Javier, still bleeding profusely, took off at a canter. Only after sparing Arthur a glance of worry, which Arthur returned by shouting, “Go!” Smacking Clementine on the rump hard enough to send her careening off into the nearby treeline, which the remaining Lemoyne raiders paid no attention to at all. Their eyes fixed menacingly onto Arthur and Arthur alone, their compatriots still bleeding out on the road beside them. The four that were left seemingly still pursuing their intent to be the stupidest men alive by not even taking cover, even as Arthur fired off a few warning shots towards them while he attempted to find some cover for himself. 

He managed to toss himself behind a boulder, shoulder scraping it as he went and he could feel the flimsy fabric of his summer shirt tear at the seams as he went. His arm raised, ceasing it’s shaking as he calmed his breathing and lined up a shot. One of the raiders stupidly popped his head out from behind the wagon at that very moment and Arthur’s gun fired once and that was enough. The man’s dashed skull cracked against the ground a moment later and that seemed to incense the rest of the posse. 

One of them shouted out to Arthur that they were going to string him up for what he’d done to some of their best men. That Lemoyne Raiders didn’t forget. Which Arthur didn’t disbelieve, especially considering the Civil War had ended more than thirty years ago and they still seemed to be holding a grudge against the North. 

He calmed himself, there were only three of them left now, shuffling in the distance as they waited for him to emerge from his cover. He took a simple moment to breathe in deeply through his nose, filling his lungs, and out through his nose. He knew the tricks for what he wanted to happen next, something that Hosea had taught him many, many years ago. It attuned you to everything that was occurring around you, made you sharper. Like the world was moving slower and you actually had time to think. 

Arthur felt everything go strangely cool, the way it did when he got himself in this almost meditative state. He knew how good of a gunslinger he was. Even when his heart wasn’t beating slow enough that when he’d first managed to perfect it he was afraid that he was going to drop down dead, until Hosea assured him that it was absolutely fine. He shifted against the cover, securing his legs underneath him until he could push up on them enough that he could prop himself up far enough to get a good view of what was going on.

He grit his teeth, the brim of his hat bordering on blocking his vision but he didn’t have enough time to push it up. Not when the men in front of him were all out of their cover and it barely felt like anything at all to line up three consecutive shots that cracked through the meadows, sending birds, that had settled back onto the trees not just a moment ago, fluttering back into the hazy blue mid-afternoon sky. 

The men’s bodies fell in succession. The thuds damp and muted. 

Arthur didn’t bother to move the bodies, he hadn’t seen anyone in the entire time they’d be firing potshots at each other back and forth, and quite frankly he didn’t want to go anywhere near those men. They certainly didn’t deserve to be given any kind of burial or even be covered in the grasslands just off to the side of the road. If a lawman were to come by in the next few minutes, Arthur would be long gone; so he left them. Bloodied in the dirt. 

It was an inconvenience more than anything. Especially when, after tucking his gun back into it’s holster and dragging himself to his feet, he had to then search through the brush for his horse who was casually grazing on some dandelion leaves and she swung her head towards him as soon as he fumbled through a bush to the side of her. 

“There you are, girl.” The horse, of course, didn’t respond but she did take a few steps forward. Enough that she could butt her snout against his opened palm, “Sorry for the diversion.” His apology accepted as she lipped at his hand and snorted. 

He hefted himself onto her back, his shoulder twinging where he’s scraped it up against the rock and he rolled it experimentally. It didn’t click or grind, so he assumed it was merely a flesh wound. Probably scraped some of the skin off. No doubt Charles would have some sort of salve to rub on it. 

Maybe he’d play it up a little and get some sympathy from the man. Or least a back rub. Not that he was hurt, but rattled more than anything. And irritated that his day with Javier was now soured by the whole thing. 

The mood of camp was unreadable when he finally made it back, a few people were scurrying around but not more than usual. It was only when he spied Javier posted up on one of the spare cots with his leg propped up, looking a little worse for wear but definitely not like he was about to kick the bucket. His face a little paler than usual and Tilly was attempting to pull down his jeans without aggravating the gouge of flesh that the bullet graze had taken out of his thigh. A cool flannel pressed to his forehead as she worked on him. 

Arthur was a little confused as to why she wasn’t just ripping the fabric away until he heard a squawk from Javier of, “Ay, be careful...No, You are _not_ cutting these pants off, they are my favourites!” And then the sound of Tilly telling him that he was being an asshole about the whole thing.

It wasn’t any surprise that Sean and Lenny approached him, both looking a little frayed around the edges and the hat that was usually propped on top of Sean’s crop of ginger hair was clutched in his hands, and he wrung it between them as he spoke, “What the fuck happened? Javier got whisked away by Grimshaw as soon as he got back.”

Lenny butted in, “And Tilly won’t let us near him either.”

“Was you fighting or something, Arthur?” Sean’s eyes shone with what could only be described as a sickly mixture of concern and unhinged anger, and Arthur knew if he gave him an inch he’d take a mile and then he’d have a dead Irish boy on his hands. Something he definitely didn’t want. 

“Gimme some room, fellers. Lord.” Sloping off of Clementine and hitching her, his back to the young men as they all but crowded him against the horse and continued their questioning. Talking over each other and hardly making any sense, babbling with worry. 

“Will you stop it!” Arthur barked, “It was them Raiders. Took us by surprise is all. Now stop pestering me and go and ask if Tilly perhaps wants some _help_ , and not for you to stand over her shoulder bugging her.” He took a moment to look beyond the two men, who were now looking a little sheepish, and Arthur spotted Charles just beyond them. Brushing through Taima’s mane. 

He clapped a hand onto Lenny’s shoulder suddenly, “Hey, uh, tell Javier I’m sorry n’all.” 

“‘Course.” 

And with that the two men were scurrying off, Sean rattling on about wondering if Javier maybe wanted a tot of gin to help with the pain, because he’d be willing to share if that was the case. 

Arthur’s legs felt a little wobbly as he trotted over to Charles. He hadn’t even bothered to look up for him when he’d rode into camp and Arthur knew that Charles had a habit of glancing up any time anyone rode into camp when Arthur wasn’t there just in case it was him, and he knew that because Charles himself had told him. 

As he approached, Charles raised his head though, and for a second Arthur didn’t notice the sharp look in his eyes because he was so taken with the way Charles has braided his hair, the braid curling around his shoulders. His eyes followed the curve of it to his jaw, then his mouth, then his deeply angry eyes. 

Arthur swallowed.

When he was close enough, Charles dropped the brush in his hand and shot out his arm. His fingers closing around the meat of Arthur’s bicep and Arthur had to let out a noise, although more so of surprise than pain. Charles was quite clearly not trying to hurt him, but his movements were brisk and sharp as he all but yanked Arthur to the side of the camp. Face stormier than Arthur had seen it in a good while. Perhaps not since the buffalo hunters back on the prairie. 

Charles practically hissed at Arthur when they were far enough from camp that they wouldn’t cause a ruckus, “What on earth were you doing?” 

Arthur didn’t understand. 

“Fishing?” 

“Fishing entails Javier being shot?” 

Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest now that Charles’ hands weren’t attached firmly to one of them, “Oh come on now, he wasn’t shot. He—well—it’s just a graze.”

He couldn’t meet Charles’ eyes as they spoke, unsure of what he was getting at. If he was worried about the fact they had been shot at then perhaps he should rethink the life he was buying into at that current moment. It was nothing unusual, for either of them. Or Javier. What sort of outlaw expects to live a life where people aren’t shooting at you? It made no sense to him. It was like telling a dog not to chew a bone, or a cat to not chase rats. Why, Charles himself had shot enough people and been shot at right back. It was borderline crazy for him to be stood there looking like he was a moment away from giving Arthur the telling off of his life. Something Arthur _definitely_ didn’t want.

Arthur’s mouth, once again, seemed to be moving before his brain had engaged though, 

“S’nothing new, Charles. It’s what we do. You’d be a fool to think any different.” 

Charles’ face went from anger to fuming quicker than Arthur had time to process and the younger man retorted quickly, “So I’m a fool?” Arthur opened his mouth to respond but Charles cut him off, voice louder now, bordering on shouting at Arthur, “You don’t think every time I worry that when you leave by yourself that you won’t come back? I’m a fool to be afraid of the idea of burying you because you’re too stupid to not get into gunfights with old men on roadsides?” 

Arthur’s own brain seemed to snap at that. The tone of Charles’ voice irking him enough that he seethed back at him, “I don’t know what you think is going on, but you’re in the wrong lifestyle to be worrying over me like a woman.”

“Am I not allowed to worry?” The response from Charles audibly wavered, volume reeled back in and Arthur didn’t dare meet his eyeline at all. 

Arthur set his shoulders, pulling them back as he tried to stand his ground with the matter. Watching as Charles visibly deflated now that he had done his bellowing at him, his whole body sagging but in a spiteful way it just pushed Arthur on. Knowing that now he had the high ground. Or at least, in his own mind he did, and he snapped, “I don't need it. I've lived for my entire life like this. What did you expect when you got involved with a gunslinger?” He set Charles with a frown, “I don’t understand it at all. Plenty of women who ain’t going to be hunted by lawmen and raiders and God knows who else, take your pick if you’re so inclined.” 

“I didn't get involved with an idiot though, why're you getting into fights you don't need to?” He paused, a look of brief confusion flitted across his face, “And you’re right, if I wanted a woman I could go and find one. But I don’t want a woman, I want—” he swallowed “—I want you.”

“Act like a man about it then. Now, leave it alone. I’ll die when I die. Be thankful it wasn’t today.” 

The look that flooded Charles’ face wasn’t like the anger, it was something that Arthur hadn’t ever seen cross him and he regretted looking at him almost immediately. His eyes so large that he couldn’t bear to pull his own gaze away, eyebrows turned up almost comically. He looked like he was about to burst into tears, but was so unused to the sensation that was overcoming him that he was forcing it back down with all the might he could muster. Arthur could visibly see the way his hands shook by his sides, scrunching themselves into fists and then letting them go, and Arthur was sure if he were to extend a tender hand towards Charles at that moment and turned his palms to the sky he would discover tiny little crescents where his nails had dug into the soft flesh.

Charles licked his lips, dredging a plea from his chest of, “Why are you being so dismissive of the fact I care about you all of a sudden?” He chewed the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth, debating whether to voice his next opinion but spilled out all the same, “Why are you being so pig headed when I’m trying to tell you that I was simply worried?”

The guilt of it flushed hotly through Arthur’s gut at Charles’ words, because he was right to some degree. They could die any day. Any of them, save maybe Uncle because he was too busy sleeping and grousing to actually be getting into any real trouble. But the two of them, either of them could die the moment they stepped out into the world outside of the safety of the camp, for a whole heap of reasons. 

He knew the feeling, he couldn’t stand the thought of Charles dead, lying stiff and cold with a bullet in him. So much so that as soon as the idea of it cropped up he would banish the thought and refuse to think about any more than was necessary. But in true Arthur Morgan fashion, he couldn’t quite bring himself to accept that, even though he agreed with Charles, what was being said to him wasn’t just some sort of personal attack. 

“Neither of us has any right to judge the other over this. We’re outlaws. I aint grousin’ when you go off to pitch tomahawks into O’Driscoll skulls. I aint your husband that tends to the veg patch and is never more than twenty yards away. I’m a killer, and so are you. Grow up a little.”

Arthur couldn’t tell if Charles was furious or upset as he responded to that, his voice tight and reedy, “Why would you say that?” 

It wasn’t too surprising that Charles marched off before any more could be said, and potentially before any tears could be shed as well. 

Although, as he raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his face, Arthur found that there were tears tracking their way down his cheeks. Unaware of when that had happened, he quickly wiped them away and pulled his hat down a little lower, legs taking him back to the centre of the camp. Being reminded that Javier was the only one who was hurt today and thankfully when he approached the young man, Tilly was nowhere to be seen as he was sure she would have hurried him away if he tried to bother Javier. 

He’d be placed back onto his bedroll, his back propped on a bundle of cushions that usually adorned the girls’ sleeping area and Javier peeked up from the book he was reading, an old battered copy of “Don Quijote” in Spanish that Dutch had gifted Javier in a rare moment of true compassion on the young man’s second year of running with them. 

He raised a hand in greeting as Arthur approached and Arthur let himself sink down onto the ground beside him, slumping onto his ass and Javier patted his shoulder as soon as he was close enough, “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

Arthur snorted, “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

Javier hummed, “I know. But I can tell you’re troubled about something. Your face looks as though you’re thinking very hard, which of course is a tell tale sign that something is wrong.” 

Arthur chuckled quietly, hanging his head as he pulled off his hat, letting his hair tumble out of it about his shoulders, “I’m sorry, Javier. Truly.” 

“It’s a graze. I’ll live. Another scar to add to the collection and impress conquests with perhaps.” He grinned lazily at Arthur, “The neck scar is certainly impressive but it’s always out in the open. I would need to pull my pants down to be showing off this one which seems like a very good start to something.” 

The older man didn’t want to bring up the fact that it seemed his conquests were a little too close to home to be impressed by that. 

He was caught off guard by Javier following it up with, “You been crying?” 

Arthur shrugged, generally uncaring about it, “You gonna call me a fool too?”

“No, no.” He reached around, digging out a paisley cushion and tossing it into Arthur’s lap, “Sit with me for a while, Lenny said he’d bring over some food for me. I’m sure he’ll extend the favour to you if I were to ask.” 

“I’m sure he would.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Thank you.”

So they sat, Sean and Lenny soon joining them with bowls of food and even a chunk of fresh bread, that Sean had procured from God knows where, for Javier, who gladly took it. Breaking it into four pieces for each of the men. Arthur declined his own piece, insisting that Javier should take it for all the trouble he’d gone through that day to which Javier laughed at. Mouth full of bread, “Arthur! I’m alive. That’s all that matters.” 

“Charles seems to think otherwise.” 

Lenny cleared his throat, “Perhaps he has a point—”

“Don’t you start too.” Arthur grumbled. 

He tried to pay as little attention to the growing sense of dread that was seeping into him at the idea of Charles being upset at his words. 

Perhaps he had gone a little too far. 

He groaned, pushing the heel of his hand into one of his eye sockets to try and purge the thought of Charles being disappointed by him from his mind. Something that Javier seemed to notice and when Lenny and Sean had retired to their own tents, he offered quietly, 

“Stay. If it’ll make you feel better about today.” 

“It’s not that—”

“Then what is it? You are upset because you can’t control your mouth and you said something stupid to Charles?”

“How do you know that—”

Javier sounded bashful, “The two of you were quite loud.” 

“Hm.”

Javier shifted a little closer, a stifled gasp tumbling from him as he jostled his leg and Arthur was quick to manhandle him into a position that he knew from experience would elevate the wound enough that he could settle comfortably, and Javier muttered a thanks.

Arthur accepted the offer in the end, bedding down practically on Javier’s roll, and if he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough he could feel the heat from the wound on Javier’s leg. The scolding warmth of sliced skin that he had incurred upon the man. 

He sighed, turning on his back and falling into a fretful sleep. 

A sleep that he woke from with a single thought in his mind. 

_Charles more often than not slept on the other side of the pitched tent that Javier slept under._

He could feel Javier’s forehead between his shoulder blades, having shuffled closer in his sleep. The sound of his snuffling snores drifting muffled from behind him and as Arthur cracked an eye open he tried to prepare himself for the fact he knew that Charles would probably at least be lying asleep just in front of him. No doubt with his back turned to him so he couldn’t see the picture of Arthur sound asleep with Javier slumped across his back basically. 

It was even worse than he expected unfortunately. 

Charles was sat, cross legged, directly in front of him. His hands clutched in the dip of his lap and Arthur could see the way they were held together so tightly that the skin of his knuckles was rumpled. It was quite clear that he had been sat there for at least a short while if the way his body shuddered in a shocked jolt when he noticed Arthur had his eyes open. 

His eyes dancing between Arthur’s face and the curl of Javier behind him. 

Arthur went to open his mouth to say something, but before any noise could come out Charles was frowning. Eyebrows dipping and Adam’s apple bobbing against the soft skin of his throat, the fading purple to yellow of a bruise Arthur had sucked onto his skin only a few days visible as he looked briefly to the side. Then stood, and left without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having said what i said.....please let me know how the schedule is feeling for u guys bc i never do chaptered fics but bc this one is going to be a bit too large, i did decide to split it up to make it easier to digest. 
> 
> also please consider kudos-ing and commenting it takes like 2 seconds and it really makes my day!!! and honestly only 10% of people who read this fic have kudos'd and im like??? heLLO DOES THIS MEAN ITS TERRIBLE?? if ur a fic writer u know what i mean lmao.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what my schedule is anymore :) here have 6758 words of chapter bc youre epic **pointing dunky donuts jerma meme**

It hadn’t felt right, but then again nothing that Micah said felt right. Riding out to meet with Colm and enter into some kind of parley as if that was ever going to stop the vicious and rivalrous fighting. It was just words that the other man would probably never live by. And Arthur didn't trust Colm as far as he could throw him.

But there he was, settled on the jut of rock above the plane where Micah and Dutch were stood, speaking to Colm.

He couldn’t tell what they’re saying exactly from where he was lying, he could just see the gentle flap of their hands to accent their words. Dutch didn’t look particularly happy though, and he said something slowly, and if he squinted into the scope of the rifle perhaps he could have read their lips. But then there was shuffling behind him. And then it went dark with a loud, abrupt _thwack _to his head.__

__He awoke to a violently swimming head and beatings, lots and lots of beatings, that Arthur barely survived through. Though he wished to God he could have gone back to them once the barrel of that gun was directed to his shoulder, and the trigger was pulled. Once again he blacked out of consciousness. His next waking moment of true consciousness was in that cellar, swinging with his knuckles dragging roughly on the filthy floor and Colm telling him that the wound had gone septic (amongst other things that Arthur could barely concentrate on with the agony shooting through him)._ _

__What followed bore hardly any thinking about, and when Arthur thought about it even days, weeks later, it was like his thoughts couldn’t settle on what happened steadily enough _to_ think about it. It hurt. In a way that went beyond the physical pain of being shot point blank. _ _

__But he made it back to camp, limp on the back of Clementine who thankfully survived as well. What he’d do without her Arthur did not know. It would be a greater loss than losing even his most expensive prized guns to lose his sweet girl. It was almost as though she returned the favour of his care by caring for him in turn, not stopping the ride back to the camp till Arthur was falling from the saddle and Susan, Karen and Dutch were crowding him._ _

__“I told you it was a setup, Dutch…” Arthur croaked, voice shred to pieces and lungs burning._ _

__“My boy. My dear boy, what?”_ _

__“They got me, but I got away.”_ _

__With help he was being tumbled into bed, the words of Dutch ringing in his head, “You are safe now.”_ _

__Somehow, he didn’t believe him entirely._ _

__The next time he awakened it was from the shooting pains that were coursing through his shoulder, his brow sweating and he thrashed around on his cot limply. Attempting to fight off the mysterious figures that his mind was conjuring, who disappeared entirely the moment Tilly came rushing over, hands flying to Arthur’s good shoulder to hold him down, “Arthur! It’s alright!” Her voice was calm but commanding and Arthur soon settled. His breathing heavy and laboured, pain dulled ever so slightly but his eyes were wild when they snapped towards her._ _

__“They ain’t here?” He choked._ _

__Tilly shook her head, helping him lower his back into lying down on the cot with her careful, gentle hands, “You’re fine. Calm your breathing.” She tucked her hand into his and squeezed, grounding him, “You’re alright now.”_ _

__Arthur squeezed right back and wheezed, trying to smile at her but it felt a little warped on his lips, “Well, halfway alright at least.” He rolled his shoulder experimentally and immediately winced, eyes flooding with painful tears which he blinked away quickly and covered up by wheezing, “Has anyone else been to check on me?”_ _

__Tilly nodded slowly, leaning her free hand to grasp the wet washcloth she’d brought over earlier from the basin on Arthur’s bedside table. Placing it onto his brow and watching as he relaxed slightly, body slumping a bit more into the bedding and the flush of his cheeks receding, “Karen and I have been keeping a watch over you mostly. Hosea read to you as you slept at one point.” That for some reason returned the flush to Arthur’s cheeks, but this time in bashfulness._ _

__“Old sap.”_ _

__“Arthur.” Tilly scolded, tutting to herself but still gripping his hand tightly as thought she were afraid he was going to disappear._ _

__Arthur licked his lips, “How long did they have me?”_ _

__The girl went silent for a moment, brows drawing down, “A few days, I think.” Her free hand gripped the fabric of her skirt now, rucking it up nervously, “It’s hard to tell. We didn’t quite know what was going on until...Well, until you were riding back into camp.” Her face was sullen, eyes looking tired and Arthur wondered how long she’d been watching him slip and out of fretful, painful sleeps over the past twenty four hours or however long he’d been asleep since they’d got him off the ground and into bed. She leaned forward, “Micah looked almost pleased when you didn’t come back, I—”_ _

__“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I can handle processing that man’s name right now.” He sighed deeply and cast his eyes to the canopy of his wagon’s extended covering, not entirely sure how to broach the subject he was trying to get at._ _

__“Nobody else came to sit with me then?”_ _

__Tilly shook her head, expression unreadable but the closest thing Arthur could draw from her was that perhaps she was confused at his asking, and she murmured, “I think everyone’s just a bit shaken, Arthur. It’s not even long since you got back…”_ _

__“Feels like an age.”_ _

__“I’m sorry, Arthur. There’s not much more we can do for the pain.”_ _

__He flapped the hand of his good arm, waving it away, “No, don’t worry about it.”_ _

__“You needing anything while I’m here?”_ _

__“Gosh, think some of that cocaine gum might put a little pep in my step.”_ _

__Tilly just sniggered in response, rolling her eyes until she replied, “I’ll get you some water. Don’t go anywhere.”_ _

__“Ha ha.”_ _

__In the process and time for Tilly to return with a cup of fresh water, Arthur had already fallen back asleep, her presence apparently enough to soothe him back to sleep. When he awoke once more he grasped for the cup she’d left though, guzzling down the water and attempting to prop himself up. The water that he couldn’t fit into his mouth sliding down his chin and wetting the top of his union suit which thankfully had been changed from the one he’d been wearing when he escaped Colm. Grimshaw had probably been on it immediately, and despite the fact he would rather not be seen in the nude by her, it sure wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before considering he’d practically grown up with the woman as a stand in motherly figure._ _

__He placed the cup back down a little haphazardly, jostling the vase that was perched on top of the table to the side of him. The same one that Charles had given him months ago when they were still at Horseshoe. The flowers in it were bright and well fed, but somehow different, and Arthur could only assume the person who had put them there wasn’t Charles._ _

__It had been about a week between their, what Arthur had described to John as “slight disagreement” when he had inquired why the two of them seemed so on edge, and the mishap with Colm. A week that they had spent not avoiding each other exactly, and they had even sat together most nights to eat dinner and talk politely. But Arthur knew he had hurt Charles, and for all his trying he didn’t know how to bring it up to him without sounding like a babbling idiot. Or weak._ _

__He didn’t want to be weak._ _

__Weak _killed_ you. It got inside you and made you do stupid things. _ _

__As he laid there, in bed with a busted shoulder, sweating and shaking with the sickness leaking from it into the rest of his body, he wondered whether he had accepted that weakness into him the moment he questioned Charles’ reason for worry._ _

__And now, Charles hadn’t appeared._ _

__Another day he had awoken to find the man wasn’t there._ _

__He crossed his hands on his stomach and gazed out about camp in the watery early morning light, watching people mill around and continue their lives as though their leader’s would-be son hadn’t come this close to death. Not that he blamed them, as he had said to Charles, it was something you grew accustomed to. But, perhaps, it was something you shouldn’t have to._ _

__He sighed, the sound of it seeping from him and it whittled itself down into a choked noise. Bordering on a sob but he managed to keep it together enough to not spring into tears when Karen came waltzing over. Bandages in hand and a paleness to her face that suggested she was sober enough to actually be dealing with bandages and broken men._ _

__She didn’t speak much as she fixed him up, not out of rudeness though, more so out of concentration and Arthur had to smirk a little at the way her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she worked to change over the bandages. Getting Arthur cleaned up and fresh._ _

__“I can see you grinning like a cat at my stupid faces, don’t think I can’t.” She warned, dumping the soiled bandages into a tin bowl to be disposed of, “You all good?”_ _

__Arthur decided to bite the bullet, “You seen Charles?”_ _

__Karen, after leaning down to pick up the bowl, propping it on her canted hip, looked thoughtfully out into the distance. Then hummed, then answered, “Not since I seen him riding out of camp.” She tapped a finger onto her lips, “Just said he was leaving for a bit, I think everyone was just a bit distracted with the fact you’re on death’s door to worry about him. He can look after himself n’all.”_ _

__“Karen, I am not on death’s door.”_ _

__Karen shook the tub of bandages, “Uh, your nasty shoulder might say otherwise, cowboy.”_ _

__Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, when did he go?”_ _

__Karen shrugged a freckled shoulder, the bardot neckline of her white cotton shirt sliding down a little and she hitched it back up as she spoke, “Probably about three hours after you got back.” A look crossed her face and she added very quickly, “You think he’s—”_ _

__“Ain’t the first time he’s gone off to kill O’Driscolls on my behalf.”_ _

__“Stupid son of a bitch is gonna get himself killed!” Karen spluttered, almost dropping the tub in her hands, “Should I tell someone? Dutch? I—I could go tell him right now?”_ _

__Arthur wanted to leap out of bed himself at the realisation that Charles was probably off somewhere trying to defend his honour. He felt the sickly churn of worry in the pit of his belly and the horrible thought that this was exactly how Charles had felt about the raiders and he cursed under his breath, trying to sit himself up in bed enough to fix Karen with a look, “No, no. You know damn well Dutch doesn’t exactly see eye to eye with the concept of revenge, even when it’s involving my kidnap and—” he paused “—torture.”_ _

__His thoughts raced through his head as he tried to formulate the next step._ _

__“Tell Hosea, right now. Go and tell him. Ask him to send out Javier and John to go and find him. Maybe Kieren too, kid might know where any nearby O’Driscolls keep themself cooped up, because I don’t think they’re gonna be where they were keeping me no more. They’re stupid, but not that stupid.”_ _

__Arthur had never seen Karen so full of nervous pent up energy before, her body was practically shaking with it as she fumbled out, “Why did he go alone? How could he be so reckless?”_ _

__Arthur swallowed around the knot in his throat, “I think perhaps because he loves me.”_ _

__To his surprise, the admission didn’t seem to phase Karen at all, but maybe it was just the fact she was so completely wound up at the idea of Charles walking straight into a nest of O’Driscolls that she hadn’t processed what Arthur had said to her. It wasn’t until she clasped eyes with him and said in a quivering voice, “Arthur, regardless of love, it’s a mighty stupid thing to do…”_ _

__Arthur didn’t know quite how to respond._ _

__Hosea and the boys rode out almost immediately. But only after John had come and given Arthur the most painfully awkward clasp on the shoulder, staring down at him with his lips so tight it looked almost uncomfortable. “Heal up, okay?” Was all John said to him before he left, and Arthur was aware that was probably the most touching thing he was going to get out of him at that moment. It was enough though, John was a man of little words and perhaps even less action, but he often meant well and though he was reticent to say it outloud, Arthur did love him._ _

__After that they were gone, a cloud like trail left behind them from the dusty track that led to the camp and Arthur’s weary eyes following behind them, heart beating a violent rhythm in his throat at the thought that four was probably the minimum he would want to send to deal with O’Driscolls; meanwhile Charles had gone by himself._ _

__He couldn’t even go for a ride to clear his head, all he could do was lie in his bed and stare up at the canvas above him and count the number of ways Charles could have been killed as the minutes crept by slower than he had ever known them to. Even slower than the time he had spent in Colm’s camp, strung up and gangrenous._ _

__It seemed like an age (though it had probably only been a day) before Tilly returned to sit with him, his shoulder blaring a thick tangle of beating agony and as soon as she saw his face she scurried off, returning once more with a bottle of tonic to ease the pain. Arthur glugged it down gladly, wiping his good arm’s hand over his mouth when he was done, hiccuping once from having drunk it semi lying down and Tilly gave him a withering smile, smoothing a hand over his sweaty forehead._ _

__“Better?” She asked gently._ _

__Arthur closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose before responding, “I ain’t gonna be better until he’s back.”_ _

__Tilly’s mouth crumpled into a grimace, “Hosea will get him back. You know he will.” Despite the look on her face her eyes seemed sure of the fact and Arthur, as he attempted to prop himself up on his cot with pillows, smiled at her and then tugged both of her hands into his own._ _

__“You don’t gotta worry for me. I can see it all over your face.” Her mouth quivered a little as he continued, “You care a lot, Miss Jackson. I can tell. But you shouldn’t, we’re just a bunch of useless outlaws.”_ _

__“M’sorry, Arthur.” She cast her eyes downward, “Charles and I—I don’t know if it’s too much to say that we’re friends but he’s very kind to me. Him and Lenny.” She shrugged a little, “Nothing against you white fellers but, the three of us know how to look after each other in a way you boys won’t ever know.”_ _

__Arthur couldn’t really argue with that, he just squeezed her hand once more and urged, “Then don’t let the worry get to you.”_ _

__“Are you letting it get to you?” Tilly asked, rather boldly._ _

__Arthur sucked in a breath, not quite ready for that question, “I—”_ _

__“Because everyone else is too afraid to say it but, you look like shit, Morgan.”_ _

__He breathed out a shaky laugh, passing a hand over his eyes and choking out a few more laughs before he conceded softly, “Yeah, yeah. I think I probably do.” He licked his lips, reaching a shaking hand over to his canteen of water and Tilly helped him along the way, allowing him a sip of water to ease his parched throat. When he was finished he added, “I know I’m not supposed to be up but—I need to stretch my legs. Could you help me walk over to the tables—Please?”_ _

__The use of the word ‘please’ seemed to settle Tilly’s mind on the idea and she nodded once, “I think I might need Karen’s help though—”_ _

__“I’m not that damn heavy!” Arthur blustered, face going crimson._ _

__“Well, fine! Swing your dumbass out of bed and we’ll get going now, but if either of us falls because you been eating all those bread loaves—” She squinted “—Don’t think I haven’t noticed that one, then I’m calling Karen.”_ _

__Arthur’s face stayed crimson the entire shuffle over to the tables where Uncle and Swanson were sat drinking coffee, and if Arthur made sure to put hardly any weight onto Tilly as walked which caused his bad shoulder to throb in agony; well, Tilly didn’t need to know about that just yet. Especially since she looked so proud when she plopped him down onto a seat and said chipperly, “I’ll go get you some coffee.”_ _

__Uncle chirped up all of a sudden, “Could you get me a cup too?”_ _

__Tilly glanced at him up and down, “Get your own.” Then set off across camp._ _

__Arthur’s grin at Uncle was smug and he drawled, “She ain’t taking your laziness, old man.” To which Uncle sniffed and crossed his arms,_ _

__“Probably because she knows I’m a man capable of getting his own coffee.”_ _

__“Oh, stop your blusterin’.” Arthur rolled his eyes, propping his bad arm up onto the table, “I got out of bed especially for this, don’t talk nonsense now I’m up or I’ll go and sit with Sean, he talks as much as shit as you but at least it’s easier to tune him out.”_ _

__“One day you’re gonna regret talking to me like that, when I’m old and gone.” The man gave Arthur a pointed look, “You’ll be cryin’ over my grave and saying ‘why didn’t I treat him better’.”_ _

__Swanson, who hadn’t said a thing until that point, laughed a single chortle and then, sounding rather sober, said cheerfully, “Well, isn’t that something! Who's up for a game of cards then?”_ _

__The strangest of it was enough to settle Arthur and Uncle both down, Tilly returning a moment later with two cups of coffee, one of which she placed down in front of Uncle and with an incredibly mild glare she declared, “This don’t mean nothing, I just had a free hand.” Although she did follow it up by patting Uncle on the back and adding, “Look after Arthur for a bit, keep him entertained.”_ _

__Which, sure enough, he did. Molly even joined them after wandering by, looking like she was fuming over something Dutch had said which wasn’t really a surprise to anyone, Arthur offering her a seat in their simple card game which she accepted in her usual Molly way. Stomping over and sitting herself down next to Swanson._ _

__It beat lying in bed groaning in pain a good deal, and after a while Arthur even forgot what he was worrying about in the first place. He never spent much time with Molly, but she was good fun when she wasn’t looking miserable and screaming at Dutch, who rightfully deserved most of the screaming. But Arthur had mostly come to know her as...Aloof. Keeping to herself or spending most of her time with the girls when she deemed it fit to waltz down off her pedestal._ _

__But she seemed different as she sat with them, a clever and competitive look in her eyes that shone brightly when she played a good hand._ _

__They managed to play for a long while, Uncle and Molly becoming more and more animated until Molly was slamming down cards onto the table and shouting, “Aha! Take ‘dat all a’yous.”And then dragged the candies and tobacco they had been betting with towards her with her bare arms, shawl now discarded to the side and Arthur wondered if this was the most fun she’d had in a while. It seemed so._ _

__He shook his head, “Well, I think that’s me done, well done Miss O’Shea, you made a mockery of all three of us grown men. Incredibly grown in the case of Uncle here.”_ _

__Uncle grunted in return and flapped a hand as if to push away Arthur’s insults, then set about reshuffling the cards for another game as Molly had caught the playing bug. Not even a glance at her mirror the whole time they had sat there together, which was something to say._ _

__Although he laid down his cards, offering them to pile, he didn’t leave however. Comforted by a refill of his coffee from Tilly who had periodically checked up on him the entire time they had been playing the first game, her hand soft on his good shoulder and then cool as she pressed it to his forehead to make sure he wasn’t burning up from being out of bed too long. Which of course, he wasn’t. He felt much better to be up and not ruminating in circles while he wallowed in his own sick pain._ _

__He hadn’t thought about Charles the whole morning._ _

__Ah. Well._ _

__Up until that point._ _

__By the shadow of his cup on the faded wood of the table it was at least some time after midday, Arthur would have checked his pocket watch but unfortunately it seemed to have been one of the few things the O’Driscolls had pocketed when they stripped him. They obviously hadn’t thought to take any of his money or trinkets, but his pocket watch and a bar of chocolate were taken. ‘Simple things please simple minds’, Arthur had thought when he realised they were gone from his pack._ _

__The card game had long finished, Molly had stayed to have a cup of coffee herself and engage Arthur in the most chatter he had inspired out of her the entire time he had known her. Uncle interjecting every now and again, but strangely subdued, as if he was aware that Arthur wasn’t quite right and maybe needed a bit of calmness around him. With that happening, Arthur didn’t even notice the posse of men that rode back into camp, looking exhausted and on John’s part, absolutely filthy. As if he had engaged in some sort of tussle._ _

__Of course, he also didn’t notice Charles riding at the back of the group._ _

__Not until Molly touched his forearm and said quietly, “Art’ur—”_ _

__His head moved as though it were in slow motion, as did his stomach. His body moving before his organs had time to catch up with him and for a horrible hanging moment he thought he was going to throw up his two cups of coffee on himself. But he managed to catch himself enough to awkwardly waddle his legs around in the chair so he could face the men riding in. The sound of the horses positively thundering in his skull and when he caught Charles’ eyes it was a struggle not to spring into tears immediately._ _

__Charles didn’t bother to hitch Taima, and he practically slipped from her back and from where Arthur was sat he could see his shirt was ever so slightly torn and there was a reddish-brown splash across the front of it. His hair which had been pulled into a tight ponytail the last time Arthur had seen him about camp was plaited into two braids which laid on each of his shoulders. The baby hair around his temples curled and a single earring dangled from his left ear. The right lob with a gash running down it and a smattering of blood on the shoulder below it, seemingly from where someone had yanked the other earring right out of it. The thought making Arthur wince._ _

__It was hard to notice anyone else as Charles stumbled forward from Taima, his form bereft of its usual grace as he tripped over his own feet at least twice as he staggered towards Arthur, not stopping until he was falling to his knees in a slump. Arthur kept at bay the noise of pain it caused him as Charles put practically all of his weight onto him, face tucked into Arthur’s thighs and breath coming in uneven pants that fanned onto the fabric clinging to Arthur’s legs._ _

__Arthur paid no mind to the rhythmic shuddering that Charles did on his lap as he was racked with (presumably) dry sobs, and Arthur touched the back of his head tenderly. It came away damp with sweat and blood and Arthur tried to feel with his fingers if he was injured there, it seemed as though he wasn’t which presumably meant it was someone else's blood and that worried him even more. No doubt there had been a lot of killing when Hosea and the boys arrived, and Arthur’s eyes darted to Hosea who was stood about twenty metres away, looking unscathed. Thankfully._ _

__He didn’t quite know what to say to Charles._ _

__Sorry, perhaps?_ _

__Maybe it wasn’t time to bring up their argument, so he simply suggested in a quiet voice, “Could go and sit by my bed?”_ _

__Charles’ head nodded stiltedly, and he wiped at his face as he stood, looking shaken and like he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. As if it were all new to be bombarded with all these emotions at all once. Overwhelmed and ragged._ _

__So Arthur took his hand, “You’re gonna need to help me a little. I’m still sorta weak.”_ _

__With Charles’ help, they ambled back over to the cot, Arthur being placed down gingerly and Charles immediately peeled the covering down so they at least had a little privacy to speak, securing them and then turning back to Arthur who gestured to the free space next to him on the bed. He patted it with his good hand and murmured, “Sit.” He paused and wrinkled his nose, “And then maybe a little later we can get you into a bath.”_ _

__Charles laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever, and took a seat next to Arthur, “That bad?”_ _

__“To spare your feelings, I’m not going to comment.” Arthur answered with a small smile, which soon slipped away as he said quietly, “I—I want to say that I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Arthur—”_ _

__“No. Please let me apologise.” He screwed his eyes shut, “I was brutish. And rude to you when we fought. I don’t got a good reason for it now that I’ve thought on it but—” he sighed “—I’m truly sorry that I spoke unkindly. You had good reason to be worried. I run into things headfirst, without much thought.”_ _

__Charles shifted awkwardly, “Arthur, I don’t want to belittle that apology but I did just return from...Running headfirst into a fight with the O’Driscolls. Maybe I shouldn’t have been too quick to judge.”_ _

__Arthur blinked, “Are you implying that maybe we were both right in some ways.”_ _

__Charles’ mouth went tight as though he didn’t really want to admit it, “Well. I think so.”_ _

__Arthur was quiet for a while before saying, “I’m still sorry.”_ _

__Charles couldn’t hold back his laughter, “I can tell. You get this stupid look in your eyes when you are, you look like a naughty little dog whose been told off.” He placed a hand onto Arthur’s thigh, “Despite the fact you lacked a little tact with what you said you—you were right in some ways.” He shrugged, “How can I be mad at you for a life I also lead.”_ _

__Arthur gripped Charles’ hand suddenly, tone almost pleading, “I could leave. We both could leave. I—I could get a job doing _something_. You too. Working the railroad or the lumber business. If you wanted, Charles, I would go.” _ _

__Charles shook his head, his voice soothing and most importantly _knowing_ , “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave and I know that, and it’s alright. I don’t need promises of leaving the only life you’ve ever known behind. I think all I need is the acknowledgement that you will allow me to feel for you.” He licked his lips, probably parched from the ride home, “Were you worried about me?” _ _

__“Of course I was!” Arthur’s voice was raised now, bordering on hysterical even as he attempted to calm himself, “I was more worried about you being hurt than the fact I got gangrene!”_ _

__“It doesn’t feel good...Does it?” Charles inquired._ _

__Arthur’s reply was weak, “No. I hated it.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t ask you to leave your family, or this life, Arthur. What I would ask is that maybe we talk about things before we get into arguments that don’t need to be arguments. It—it scares me to think that we could leave camp with bad feelings between us and then they never be resolved because one of us—”_ _

__“I understand.” Arthur’s face was unreadable, but with the awkward line to his shoulders it would seem he was vaguely uncomfortable with the intimacy and openness of the conversation._ _

__But, he wanted to try._ _

__“And I can do that. _For you_.” Arthur conceded, “But please, for the love of God, stop running off to defend my honour, it’s going to get you killed one day and everyone would be fucking miserable without you about camp. Only man that gets anything done most of the time.” _ _

__“Shall I take that as a compliment?” Charles' response was unusually purring, a hand cupping Arthur’s face as he didn’t give him time to respond before he was pressing their mouths together in the first kiss they had had in a _while_. Arthur’s body trembled under the weight of it, despite the fact Charles’ mouth was chapped, as was his own and when they pulled away from each other he muttered to Charles, _ _

__“God, we’re a sight.”_ _

__Charles pulled a semi-disgusted face, “I didn’t want to bring it up...But I think you might need a shave. You look like that wild man who lives in the forest with the wolves.”_ _

__“The what now—”_ _

__“Can I get you anything?” Charles’ words were a tad muffled as he spoke into Arthur’s neck, mouthing over the tendons and making Arthur shudder and he groaned quietly at the sensation._ _

__“You can stop doing that because I am in no fit state to be doing _anything_ of the sort.” _ _

__Charles drew back, looking a little disappointed, “I could—”_ _

__“Charles, I am almost forty. And I can also tell you now, Tilly will _know_ if I’m messing around with you instead of lying here healin’.” That didn’t stop him from leaning into Charles’ space once more and kissing him hard. His good hand grasping the back of his head and holding him tightly to him, only pulling away when Charles’ hissed in pain and clutched at his ear. _ _

__“Someone’s gonna need to sew that up for you.” Arthur murmured as Charles stood, hand cradling his ear, “You should get it seen to.”_ _

__Charles stuck out his bottom lip, although it seemed involuntary because Arthur was a bit unsure as to whether Charles knew how to pout on purpose, “Can’t you do it?” His hand moved from the torn ear and Arthur couldn’t help but snigger and gesture limply to his bandaged shoulder._ _

__“Not unless you can find some way for me to do it one-handed. No. Go and see Grimshaw, she’s the best at sewing up folk.”_ _

__Charles’ returning look was one of abject fear at the concept of Grimshaw being close enough to pass a needle through his ear lobe and he lamented under his breath, “I liked these earrings…” He then stayed for a moment to see Arthur’s smile, lift his hand and kiss his knuckles and then _finally_ left to go and get himself cleaned up. _ _

__As soon as he had left the tent’s cover Arthur wilted. Tired and hurt and stuffed to the brim with too many mixed emotions that he was more drained than he had been in a good while. His body slumping back onto the cot and with shaking arms he lowered himself down into a prone position, hands crossed on his stomach as for the first time in the last forty eight hours, he rested his eyes with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to toss and turn fitfully as he did._ _

__The sound of the tent’s covering rustling awoke him not a moment later though, and he groaned, rubbing at his aching eyes with his good hand and groaning._ _

__As Charles entered, he noticed Arthur’s annoyance and he quickly murmured, “Sorry.”_ _

__“S’fine. Don’t worry about it. Forget something?”_ _

__Charles’ brow furrowed, confused, “What do you mean?”_ _

__“You came back pretty darn quick.”_ _

__“Arthur, I’ve been gone about five hours.”_ _

__Arthur blinked at the man, then groaned even louder, “Christ, only felt like I was asleep for about three seconds.”_ _

__Charles hummed unhappily, “You’re sicker than I thought, I should leave you to rest more.”_ _

__Arthur almost shouted his response, “No!” Pausing a moment to recompose himself, “No. Please just stay. I want you to stay.” He made no move to try and reach for Charles, because he knew that it was just as hard for him to leave him as it was for Arthur to leave Charles, so he simply stared at Charles, who was now looking a little less worse for wear. Freshly clean shirt on and the skin of his face plump as thought he’d spent a good while in the bath, probably in Rhodes._ _

__The bags that hung under his eyes were still visible though, and Arthur tutted at them, “Can’t wash away the fact you look like you’re about to drop. Please, stay here with me and rest.”_ _

__Charles nodded once, then shuffled out of the tent. Returning shortly dragging his bedroll behind him like a small child, with a nervous look on his face as he laid it down next to Arthur’s cot. His limbs moved stiffly, as though he really was on the brink of falling down asleep on the spot, and Arthur wondered how long Charles had ridden to go and find those O’Driscolls. Considering how long it had taken for Hosea and the boys to return, it must have been a substantial trip._ _

__Charles practically fell onto the bedroll with a muted thud, a huge heaping sigh leaving him and he starfished on the ground for a moment. Eyes closed and chest rising and falling, the movement sending shudders through his body and the exhaustion that was coursing through him must have been so deep set that when his body did find a single moment of rest, it was almost painful to him._ _

__They laid there together for a while, Charles’ shaking breaths and Arthur trying his best to not gasp out when the shooting pains in his infected shoulder became too much for him. The almost-silence all encompassing but comforting. Like it was enough to be in each other’s presence as they tried to stifle the fact that they weren’t immortal, and despite the fact their constitutions were amongst the best of the camp; they were still humans who needed to heal when hurt._ _

__Charles’ voice, when he finally spoke, was edged with a certain aching, “When they took you...I really thought you were dead.” The sentence ended in a clipped, stifled way. As if Charles had to forcibly stop himself from continuing otherwise he might say something he didn't want to._ _

__“I’m so sorry, Charles—”_ _

__“You shouldn’t apologise. Dutch did nothing for you while you were gone.”_ _

__Arthur didn’t say anything in return so Charles continued._ _

__“Don’t ever tell me I can’t worry about you when I—”_ _

__“I know.” Arthur ground out, before Charles could go any further._ _

__“Some days I wonder if you’re the only thing keeping me from—”_ _

__“Don’t continue that thought. Please.”_ _

__The sound of rushing air signalled Charles’ sigh and he murmured, “Sorry. I don’t mean to lay anything on you. I’m so happy that you’re here. I can’t begin to tell you how happy.”_ _

__Arthur’s hand was offered out to him, at a slightly odd angle with Charles on the floor and Arthur on his raised cot, but Charles took it immediately. Linking their fingers together and squeezing so hard that Arthur had to actually clear his throat and tell him to let off a little before he broke his fingers. Charles doing so immediately, apologising a few times before Arthur chuckled in return and squeezed back, a tad lighter than Charles had done, “S’fine. Just, go easy on the goods. I need that hand.” He didn’t need to look down to know that Charles was probably flushed and embarrassed by his own strength and maybe even his own affection._ _

__Arthur soothed it all by promising softly, “I will try my darndest not to die in future. Just for you.”_ _

__Charles’ reply was obviously an attempt to be serious, but he ended up almost _giggling_ as he retorted, “Shut _up_ , Arthur.” _ _

__“I’m serious! Never been more serious in my life!” Arthur insisted, his own voice wavering with the need to laugh along with Charles. More out of habit than anything else. But he also added, more sincerely, “I ain’t gonna leave you.”_ _

__He sucked in a breath suddenly, remembering yet another thing he probably should be worrying about and he fumbled out, “Sorry about fallin’ asleep next to Javier too.”_ _

__“Arthur—”_ _

__“It weren’t exactly how it seemed.”_ _

__“Arthur, do you really think I’m stupid enough to be angry about you falling asleep with him? I understand the bonds you have with many people in this camp that, despite the fact you’re not blood, they’re still your family.”_ _

__Arthur could feel his face light up, flushing deeply in the dark of the tent, “You’re family too.”_ _

__Charles’ voice sounded almost far away as he countered, “I don’t know if I am…”_ _

__“You’re _my_ family.” Arthur verged on pleading as he spoke. _ _

__“Will you...Tell me that you love me? If I were to ask?”_ _

__“I—” Arthur didn’t know how to continue. Because, yes. Yes he did. He could feel the way it crept into every part of him from the moment that he woke up to the moment that he fell asleep. The deep clawing sensation that what he felt towards Charles, and what he had felt for a _while_ , was love. But it was like it was stuck within him. How was he supposed to dredge it up and lay it bare when the ability for his life to change in a second was always around him? And maybe, for the first time in a while, he was afraid. _ _

__It was a different fear than the one he’d felt with Mary. That was a fear of living in such a way that he knew he was lying to himself. A fear of misery even with someone who in a particular way he did love._ _

__Instead, it was a terror of letting Charles down. Or allowing harm to come to either of them just because he had allowed himself to be open._ _

__He swallowed. He wasn’t too sure where that last one had come from._ _

__Once Mary had scolded him for being too afraid to express his feelings and he had retorted with something unkind but, she had been right._ _

__He was unsure of how to simply speak about the things he felt a good portion of the time. It’s why he kept his diary. It flowed much easier out of him when he allowed himself to sit down and write._ _

__His silence while he thought had obviously been enough of an answer for Charles and he spoke softly to him, “I don’t mean to persuade anything from you.”_ _

__Arthur shook his head against his pillow, “I do though. I do.” Hoping dearly that Charles understood what he meant._ _

__And if the way he rubbed the rough pad of his thumb along Arthur’s knuckles and hummed, he did._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again i am asking u to kudos and comment but especially kudos even if u hated it i dont care just click kudos if you havent already i will come to your house and kiss u so softly on the mouth if u do
> 
> anyway SO WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN IS there's a next chapter i'm working on right now which by the looks of it might be the same size as this one?? maybe? and then there will be what i think is going to be an epilogue bc i doubt it'll be very long AT all.
> 
> hopefully u can forgive me if the schedule goes even wonkier i genuinely dont know when theyre asking me back to work at the end of the month but i am going :/
> 
> twitter: transmatty  
> tumblr: cowboyism


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love how i was like "hmm next chapter will probably be about the same as last" and then i write an almost 14k chapter which my brain wont let me split up so i hope that's alright w/you guys
> 
> also i hope you guys get real cool with a bunch of stuff real quick because there's some things in these chapters which have been hinted at and i think it's cool so like, you better all do too.
> 
> enjoy tho xx

The process of healing was an arduous one. Filled mostly with Charles brimming with a quiet worry that he expressed through things such as giving Arthur helpings of dinner that were way too large considering all he was doing was sitting around. Or standing directly behind him when he was sat helping with some sort of menial task, something that everyone at camp had grown used to. Charles’ insistent hovering around Arthur, ready to rush and fetch anything he needed if his mouth even began to twist into a grimace of discomfort from his shoulder. But he did heal, and soon enough he was fine to be up and wandering around without anyone watching to make sure he didn’t take a “funny turn” as Grimshaw would put it. 

For a good while he was tasked with whatever was lying around camp and needed doing, which was fine by him. He had bored himself to tears over the past week or so and joining some of the women, washboard tucked under his good arm, down to a quiet section of the lake to scrub down clothes was more interesting that sitting at a table and listening to Bill ramble about whatever the hell had crawled up his ass that day. 

It also allowed him to sneak some time to himself as he sat with them, the girls less obnoxious about pushing him to do something during the period where he had found himself slightly listless and not quite ready to be jumping onto Clementine’s back and riding around at full pelt. Plus, he _was_ doing something when he was drawing by himself. It just seemed like some people didn’t quite appreciate that. 

He found that it reminded him of that evening he had sat with Hosea whenever he heard that systematic sloshing of the lake’s water against the shoreline, fondly recalling the sensation of fatherly affection in all of the ways it was slightly new and confusing. It was soothing. The tickling knowledge at the back of his mind that he could speak openly to a man that he considered not only his equal but a figure of paternal comfort. Not only that but Hosea would _understand him_. It was like the joy of hearing Charles say that he wasn’t alone in his affection for him. It was like being seen when for a terrible amount of time you’d been pushed up against the bricks, barely visible. 

Like shedding a skin or removing a piece of cloth that had always restricted your sight the entire time.

So he sat, offering the girls help just to make sure they knew he wasn’t trying to be lazy, but most of the time they waved him away and he continued his drawing. Pencil caught tight between his fingers, almost boring down into the page because he was so caught in the details of Charles’ face, the graphite curve of his jaw and the smudged lines of his forehead. Cigarette pinched in his free hand as he tried to hold his diary still as the pencil smoothed its way across the paper, forming the delicate way Charles would raise his eyebrows when he found something amusing. The image of it burned affectionately into Arthur’s mind, tucked away for when he needed inspiration for art. 

He didn’t know how many times he had sketched Charles in the past week or so. He was a little embarrassed to flick back through the pages, especially considering one of them was him sprawled nude, taken directly from the source. The look in eyes transferred exactly onto the paper so intense that looking at the sketch alone had Arthur sucking in a breath and casting his eyes away, cheeks flashing like hot coals. 

Of course he was careful with that page while he sat with the women, who this time were flicking water at each other and laughing like the girls they perhaps didn’t have time to be. He wasn’t even sure how old Tilly and Mary-Beth were still. It had never come up but when he saw them giggling and bright faced it was hard to believe they were a day over twenty one. 

Their chatter was pretty benign for the most part as they scrubbed shirts and underskirts against the washboard, Karen wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist and her own skirt hiked up so high that Arthur wondered blithely if her knees were cold in the breeze. She caught his interest when she groaned though, their conversations obviously turning to gossip and he couldn’t drag himself away from talk of that manner. So he shuffled a little closer and insinuated himself into the conversation. Something Tilly didn’t miss, and she opened the washing circle up to him. Her eyes falling once on the drawing of Charles once and a wonky smile befell her lips before she said to Karen, “What’s the problem now?” 

Karen’s face lit up, “Well, _thank you_ for finally asking, Matilda.”

“Oh jeez.” Mary-Beth muttered.

Tilly’s face was blank, “Karen, I’m not called Matil—”

Karen swung the sopping wet shirt she had in her hands around as she spun to face the girls a little better, both of them and Arthur tutting at the spray of water it caused but Karen seemed unphased, “You know Sean and I have always been friendly?”

It was Arthur’s time to pipe up then, “I didn’t know friendly entailed screaming at each other and then...How does he put it? ‘Shagging like rabbits’?” 

Karen’s nose hitched into the air as Mary-Beth and Tilly cackled with laughter, and she squeezed the water out of the shirt so violently that Arthur almost regretted making the joke, “I’m gonna ignore that one.” She tucked a bundle of her curls back over her shoulder and continued on, undeterred, “It just seems like recently he’s not been...bothered with me. Usually he’s like a scrappy little dog biting at my heels to get my attention, and it’s fun. Not that I’m too bothered.” She sniffed and looked a lot more than ‘not bothered’, “Just thought it was mighty odd. Think he might have gotten bored of me.” 

Despite her initial flurry of trying to not seem like she cared, there was a gentle candour to her words and Tilly patted her exposed knee, assuring her, “I ain’t calling you stupid in any way but—Well. No I am. You’re stupid for being soft on a dumbass.” 

Karen spluttered as Mary-Beth sniggered behind a hand and Tilly added cheerfully, “Don’t worry though, someone else will put up with you one day.” 

Arthur once again was reminded of how much more interesting the girls were than the boring, boisterous men. 

“Tilly!” Karen gaped her mouth at her before scrambling to interject with, “Well, if you think he’s so stupid why don’t you find me a new man. Little Miss Know-It-All.”

Mary-Beth pointed out casually, “Maybe it’s best if you don’t go messin’ with any men for a while. More time to spend with us.” Her eyes followed the soft shape of Tilly’s wrist all the way to her hand which hadn’t removed itself from Karen’s bare knee at any point in the conversation and Karen’s eyes followed the same trajectory, as she hadn’t even realised she was being touched. Her mouth splitting in a raucous grin, all teeth, as soon as she realised something. 

“Tilly Jackson! You’re jealous of Sean!” 

The rattling sound to the side of Arthur appeared to be Tilly swallowing her own saliva awkwardly, hacking for a second before replying hoarsely, “I do not! You’re just too good to be up in arms over some skinny, ginger idiot who once wore a jacket back to front and told everyone it was a new invention called a bosom warmer.” 

Karen’s voice danced with the lilt of laughter that shone through her attempt to speak normally, “Thinkin’ about bosoms are we? Wanna warm my bosom, Tilly?”

Mary-Beth crossed her legs, accepting Arthur’s offer of the dying cigarette as she watched the two women do what could only be interpreted as flirting. Saying very matter of factly, “You have got quite a lovely bosom, Karen.” 

It all ended with Karen and Tilly looking mildly sheepish as they all shuffled back into the main area of the camp, Arthur carrying the heaviest basket of washing which he offered to help them peg out to dry but once again the girls pushed him away, kindly of course. Karen pushing her hands into the small of his back, “We don’t need help _pegging_ , we’re not that useless.” 

Arthur sighed theatrically and mumbled, “Here I was thinking you just wanted me out the way so you could continue your gossiping. No doubt yapping about me.” Which Karen followed up with a huge roll of her eyes and a pretend kick to the ass. Arthur sniggering and ducking away from her, leaving them all to it. It wasn’t particularly surprising that they found so much enjoyment in their time with each other and the general mischief that came with it, it wasn’t like they ever really joined the men on their various outings. It must have become terribly boring to sit around and endure Grimshaw’s shouting and lecturing of what real young ladies should be doing every day. Arthur tipped his hat at them politely and allowed them to continue their chores without his presence, knowing damn well that as soon as he was gone they _would_ be talking about him. Not that he minded too much. 

A quick gauze change later found him smoking on the outskirts of camp, cigarette in his good hand and the other perched on his hip as he debated whether it was a good idea to take a small ride to town and back, especially seeing as though he was running out of hair pomade and cigarettes. The one in his hand one of the last ones and the thought of enduring camp without the opportunity to ride out into the wilds of the county without the smouldering relief of tobacco made Arthur’s hair stand on end. 

He took a deep drag, holding in the smoke for as long as he could and when he breathed it out through his nostrils the sound of an argument drifted towards him as the smoke drifted away.

“Are you being smart?” The first voice was John’s scratching drawl. 

“N-No, sir.” The second’s timid response was obviously Kieran. 

Arthur pushed through the obscuring tangle of branches that clasped the horse’s area of camp, the two men stood a hair's breadth apart with John’s finger jabbed into Kieran’s chest and the sigh that left Arthur drew them apart quickly. John’s face looking flushed and on the verge of him falling into some sort of temper and Arthur flapped his hand still holding the cigarette towards the two of them, “What in the hell are you gettin’ into now?” 

The question was of course more directed at John and he seemed to realised as he shuffled his feet, perfectly playing the younger brother caught doing something foolish part as always, “Old Boy’s got—”

Arthur cut in, “Actually, no. I wanna hear it from you, Duffy.” Kieran almost jumping at the mention of his name and his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly, his hands screwed up on the front of his shirt which sat untucked from his pants. 

“It’s—uh—It’s Old Boy’s hoof. He’s got a small abscess and I was just tryna explain that Mr Marston can’t just go jumping on him and ridin’ off ‘til I’ve drained it and applied some kind of poultice. Otherwise the poor thing is gonna be real unwell for days!” 

“You were bein’ smart!” John cut in with, though was quickly shut up by Arthur barking, 

“John, shut up for a second. Christ.” He stuck a hand towards Kieran, “Listen to the boy, he’s spent more time with the horses the past few months than we have in their entirety.” 

John looked as though he’d just been told to kiss a toad and his face screwed up for a single moment before Arthur fixed him with an answering look that was so intense that John threw up his hands in defeat, “Jesus, fine. Kieran, I am very sorry I doubted you, oh great lord of horses.” 

Kieran’s eyes darted between the two men, “Uh...Thank you?” 

“John.” Arthur warned. 

John tutted, adding, “Do whatever you need to do with Old Boy. But don’t act like you’re better than me just because you know about...Horse hoof diseases.” 

“It’s not a disease, sir. It’s a—”

“Yeah, okay. Just fix it.” 

Arthur managed to get close enough to whack John on the shoulder, almost sending him pitching forward into the grass and a cluster of horses standing round seemingly enjoying the entertainment of three humans semi-arguing with each other, “Don’t be such a sourpuss, he’s tryin’ to help.” His hands fixed around John’s shoulder, holding him in place like a mother forcing their son to apologise to the owner of the house whose window he just broke. “Thank you, Kieran.” 

Kieran’s nervous shaking had subsided to him _only_ wringing the fabric of his shirt still and he gulped then assured John, “I’ll fix it, sir. Don’t worry.” 

“Kieran, you don’t gotta call him sir.” Arthur grinned smugly and shook John by the shoulder lightly, “Nobody else does.” 

“Jackass.” John grumbled, but still left Kieran to his work as he led Old Boy away to a place where he could perch and begin work on removing his shoe. 

As soon as Kieran was out of earshot Arthur let go of John’s shoulder, pushing him away so he could bring himself to full height in an attempt to tower over John, “You got no business being that mean to him. He’s a good kid.” 

John scoffed, moving to lean his back against the trunk of a tree that was nearest to him, “And that’s what he is. A kid.” 

A short, stilted laugh left Arthur, “He’s barely a year or two younger than you I bet.”

John sniffed, “Yeah, well. Still younger.”

“God, you’re an asshole.” Arthur sniped in return. 

Actions seemed to not quite match words though as John fumbled a cigarette Arthur’s way, even going so far as to light it for him, then lighting his own off the same match. Puffing away against the tree he was leant against and Arthur knew that was just the way that they spoke to each other. It was how it had always been with them. Natural kinship came to them in the form of bickering and even after their most heated of arguments they had come together. 

Even after John left. 

_He had come back._

Sometimes Arthur had thought that doing that was in part a section of his apology. If he didn’t care, he would have gone for good. 

John’s cigarette dangled from his mouth, his chin almost against his chest as he asked in the most interested voice he could muster, “You good?” 

The blandness of the question had Arthur rolling his eyes and he took a drag of the cigarette before stating, “Fine. Could be better.” He stopped for a pregnant pause, lips pulling into the shadow of a smile knowing that John had something on his mind that he still hadn’t learned the tact of how to casually drop into conversation, “Got any more small talk you want to try on me?”

John huffed, a hand on his hip and his ass still rested against the tree trunk, and he licked his lips before he said, “You know that—Well—you know—”

Arthur blinked, “No? What on Earth are you on about?”

“C’mon! You know what I mean!”

Voices began to raise from both of them. 

“No! I don’t! Spit it out!” 

John’s mouth was tight, almost as though it was physically paining him to be so emotionally open with Arthur, and he confessed with rosy cheeks, “I care. About you.” He stopped as thought to take a breather, then continued, “You ain’t blood, but you’re my brother.”

It was downright unusual for either of them to be standing in front of the other and attempting any kind of emotional intimacy and sincerity, however unrefined or short that emotional expression might have been. So the stiff line of Arthur’s shoulders as he stood and watched John wasn’t unsurprising. Hackles raised but more in defense than attack. Unsure of the vulnerableness that came with finally speaking to the man you’d grown up with about the unspoken brotherly bond between the two of you. 

Arthur slid a hand up to rub at his strangely tense jaw, loosening it enough to say, “Uh. Okay. Same goes for me, I suppose.” Then stood there once more, unsure of how to broach the subject of what he supposed John was trying to get at, so he just offered a little shakily, “You gonna man up and tell me what’s eatin’ you? Or should I just guess it’s the fact you’ve finally rubbed two of those brain cells you got left up there and realised I’been courting a man?”

John’s nod was quick enough that Arthur almost missed it. 

He didn’t miss his admission of, “I don’t feel any different toward you.” Or the muted pressure of assurance that came from, “You’re still my brother, Arthur.” 

It took a moment for Arthur’s vision to rid itself of the fuzzy, heady wash that overcame him, feeling as though he might just have to lean against the tree John was still against to steady himself. It passed almost as quickly as it came though, and with a hand pressed to his heavy, throbbing temple he ground out, “God. We gonna stand here and make this even more painfully awkward, or should we go sit and have a beer?”

John’s answer was immediate, “Beer. Please.” But then another pause came and Arthur knew that something borderline _sappy_ was about to be said and his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth in stark anticipation of how he was going to have to react next, “I didn’t wanna say nothin’. But, I suppose, I’ve known for a while.”

“About Charles?” Arthur croaked.

John shook his head, ever growing hair snaking around the tops of his shoulders, “No, just...About you.” He cleared his throat, the highs of his cheeks filling with colour, “Remember that bartender, back when we was stayin’ North of Blackwater? Back when you were about my age?”

Arthur was suddenly reminded of a tall, broad man. With thick thighs which had sucked the air from his lungs directly as soon as he had stepped from behind the bar to go and fetch some glasses that had been left lying around the saloon they had been stopping in. The same man who Arthur had let push him against the side of that saloon after closing, and had been the first man Arthur had felt the pull towards. The pull that had wheedled its way into his mind and crooned about the fact he had been so big and kind. Hands big enough that when Arthur had been a little younger, thinner and in his twenties, had wrapped around his waist so far that it had made his head swim.

Arthur’s face matched John’s, “You saw that?”

“ _Mm_. I didn’t wanna say anything though.” His cigarette was burnt down almost to his fingers and he stumped it out against the tree trunk, “Didn’t wanna worry you.”

Arthur dabbed away a droplet of sweat sliding down from his hairline, unsure if it was from the Lemoyne heat or the conversation, “Didn’t...Bother you, did it?”

John’s eyebrows dipped, confusion leaking from him and he remarked plainly, “How many times do I gotta tell you? You’re an asshole. And a thug at times. And most importantly you’re a huge pain in my ass. But, I mean it when I say you’re family. What am I gonna do? Just forget all the times you gave me a dollar or two to get myself some food or stuck up for me when I was little and blunderin’ about?” 

“You’re making me seem a little soft, John.” Arthur grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah? And so what? What’s wrong with that? You ain’t a bad man, Arthur, you’re one of the good ones.” He shrugged, “I was half expectin’ you to never speak to me again after I left. But you didn’t.”

“Would’a stopped us having this absolutely pathetic conversation.” 

John huffed a laugh, “Yeah, probably.” He took a step forward, inching towards Arthur and his tone suddenly became borderline conspiratorial, “If I was to ever get out, with Abigail and Jack, and have a life. Would you join me?”

“John, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Humour me. C’mon.” He nudged Arthur with his shoulder, “Could have a ranch big enough for everyone. You and Charles too.” He sounded so sincere and so much like the little boy Arthur remembered from years and years ago when Dutch had proudly brought him home as he murmured, “Would that—Would that make you happy?”

Arthur just slung an arm around John’s shoulders and nodded.

———

The more that Arthur found himself easing away from himself in terms of worry, the more he found that he no longer felt as though there was a huge, dark, heavy stone in the pit of him that he was dragging around, day by day. Hindering him and dragging him down by his heels until he could barely take a step forward with the knowledge that he would ultimately trudge through life alone.

He wasn’t though. Far from it. 

He had Charles’ hand clasped in his own, sat just outside of camp as they shared bread and dried meat between them. Subtle smiles plastered to their faces and at every opportunity he could, Arthur would pitch forward and steal kisses from Charles. Until the food was discarded entirely and they settled for Charles laying back against the grass, Arthur perched above him with a look of such adoration that Charles’ grin was the dopiest smile Arthur had ever seen grace his features. It was almost a shame to kiss it from him. 

He leant as far as he could into Charles, pressing their mouths together, his hands secured around the younger man’s wrists and pushed down into the ground on either side of his head, the dull ache in his bad shoulder ignored completely. Though they both knew if Charles really wanted to get away from the grasp he could. But he allowed it, pulling his arms open even further to give Arthur room to settle more onto him. Opening himself up. 

It made Arthur’s head spin, the blood quite obviously rushing somewhere else and he had to stuff his face into Charles’ neck and groan at the mere idea of this beautiful, powerful man allowing him to hold him down and spread him open when he could quite easily push Arthur onto his back with barely any effort.

Charles echoed the groan when Arthur’s hips rocked against his and he bared his throat almost defiantly. Daring Arthur to sink his teeth into him, and the gasp he let out when he did was wet and choked. His eyes shut and his mouth shining from where Arthur had been kissing him. It also didn’t get lost on Arthur that Charles was hardening beneath his tan work pants, curling a careening crescent against Arthur’s as he sucked at Charles’ neck hard enough that he could feel the throb of him against his hip. 

Arthur’s voice was low and smooth as he crooned against Charles’ skin, “You like that?” 

Charles hummed a response and pushed his cock up against Arthur once more as if to say, ‘of course, idiot’, and Arthur grinned sharply. Pulling his head away so he could push Charles’ wrists out even further, practically bowing his back and pushing up the softness of his chest.

However, when the plate of their shared food knocked against both their knuckles with the movement, it startled them enough that Arthur sat back on his heels and said, “Who's there?” Which of course had Charles sitting up, leaning back on his elbows and supplying Arthur with a helpful. 

“A plate.” 

Arthur went red, “Sorry. Made me jump a little.” He licked his lips, “Maybe we should cool it down a little. We’re pretty close to camp.” 

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment and Arthur was wholly worried that he had upset him, but he simply quirked an eyebrow and let one of his thighs fall open even further. Arthur’s eyes following the soft curve of where his erection was tight beneath his pants and if they were perhaps someplace a little more secluded, he would have happily pulled down his pants and sucked him off there and then. Instead he pulled his hat from where it had tumbled earlier and placed it on top of Charles’ crotch. 

“Stop teasin’ me.” Arthur admonished. 

Charles let out a laugh that sounded incredibly close to a cackle, “I’m thinking that maybe we need to make good on that idea to get a hotel room.” 

Arthur’s voice was way too hopeful and he instantly regretted how hungry he must have sounded, “Yeah?” 

Charles pulled the hat away from his pants and tucked it onto Arthur’s head, curling a finger under his chin and smoothing his thumb over the beard on it that had been there since the O’Driscolls, “Yeah. Go to Rhodes. Each of us could take a bath. The room in the saloon there is on the ground floor so it’d be easy for one of us to get in through the back.” 

Arthur nodded as best he could with Charles’ hand on him, “Sounds good. I like that idea.”

Charles’ next smile was a little wonky, “Perhaps you’d even let me shave this monster off of you.”

“That bad?” Arthur joked, rubbing his own hand over the beard adorning his chin and Charles winced in response. Arthur added quietly, “Leave a little stubble at least. Hide my fat face.”

“Arthur. Be quiet.”

“I gotta look a little rugged still!” 

“Stubble can be kept. I like the stubble.” Charles looked bashful for the first time that evening, “Feels...Nice.” 

Happiness rumbled out of Arthur’s chest audibly and he lowered himself to murmur against Charles’ mouth, “Darlin’, you’re so sweet.” Kissing him once more. 

Charles’ voice was just as soft as he said, “Bet you’ve said that to them all.”

Arthur snorted, but the voice that followed was surprisingly tender, “No. Just you.”

The admission made them both flush with embarrassment and after a final kiss which Arthur lingered on, brushing his mouth over Charles, they settled back from each other. Charles brushed a hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the creases Arthur had wrinkled it into and he said casually, “Should I bring my bedroll into your tent tonight?” 

Arthur pushed himself from the ground, offering Charles a hand which he took and when he was on his feet he smacked a playful kiss to Charles’ cheek, wiping a thumb over it when he pulled away, “I’d like that.” The hand travelled from Charles’ cheek to cradling the side of his head, tilting it slightly so he could see Charles’ earlobe, “Your ear looks a lot better. Susan did a good job.” He pecked a kiss to the sensitive, sewn up skin and Charles shuddered slightly. 

“Won’t replace the earring I lost.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Arthur supplied. 

Charles shook his head, “It was made. Not bought. My father kept a few things from my mother that I...Took...When I left. I don't remember much of anything anymore, but I do remember that my mother and her sister would craft things together to pass the time, suppose it's like Mary-Beth and Tilly embroidering. A lot of things were kept within the women of my family though. Gifts for each other.”

Arthur looked perplexed, “But you’re not a woman.”

Charles’ laugh was brisk and light, “You’re right, I’m not a woman. Sometimes things aren’t quite that simple though. Perhaps I just don’t really care much _to care_ about those sorts of things.” 

It was left at that, mostly because Arthur had no idea how to comment on what Charles had said. He just kissed his earlobe again and slid his hand down to his wrist, tugging him back towards camp, Charles following dutifully. Making a huge circle of the outskirts of camp as they went, if only to spend a little more time with each other by themselves. 

The camp was strangely quiet as they neared it, which suggested that a certain set of young men probably weren’t being boisterous at dinner time, and as they cut around a section of tree, both of their heads snapped round instinctively at the snap of a twig. Just nearby a part of the outskirts where someone usually took watch. Of course, who they found wasn’t taking watch in any way. 

The three men were crowded around a crate of whiskey bottles, many of which were strewn around them and as Arthur and Charles crept forward it seemed that the gentle noise of brush breaking underneath them was because they had taken to crawling on their hands and knees towards the crate. Trying to be inconspicuous as they giggled and snuffled as they drank and made all kinds of merry. 

The fact that Javier’s hair was hanging loose about his shoulders, pulled from its usual ponytail, wasn’t lost on either of the older men. Neither was Sean’s hat sat atop Lenny’s head. Or the smattering of what appeared to be fresh love bites on Sean’s neck, which judging by the fact Karen had been bemoaning how Sean seemed rather uninterested with her, implied that the three of them were getting up to mischief just as Arthur had assumed. 

This was slightly different from the ideas of robbery and general thievery though. 

Which was proven to be all too true when Javier cupped Lenny’s face and kissed him square on the mouth delicately, his thumb stroking the high of Lenny’s cheekbone, all too similar to the way Arthur was doing with Charles only moments before. Javier then did the same to Sean when he cried out, “Hey! What about me?” In a usual Sean manner. Pulling him towards him with the scruff of his shirt and letting Sean tug on his hair, seeming to be not quite as skilled or gentle as Lenny was with his kiss.

He kept his voice quiet as he whispered to Charles beside him, “Is there anyone in this gang that isn’t interested in screwin’ the same sex?”

Charles had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh that snuck it’s way out and when Arthur frowned at him he simply said, “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just kind of sweet when you’re clueless about your own culture.” 

Arthur frowned even deeper, he’d be asking what on Earth Charles meant by that later, but for now he just huffed and gestured at the men, “Are you gonna tell them to do their jobs or should I?” 

Charles shrugged, “I don’t mind spoiling their fun.” 

“No. I’ll do it.” He sighed, adjusted his face a little so he didn’t look too frightening, and cleared his throat loud enough that all three men jumped out of their skins. Sean slapping a hand to his neck and he shouted immediately, 

“I GOT ‘DEM FIGHTIN’.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “C’mon fellers, toss those bottles before I tell Hosea.” He fixed Lenny and Javier with a sharp look, “I expect better from you two.” 

“Erm, what about me, Arthur?” Sean inquired, staring puzzled at the man. 

“Not you, I never expect anything from you, Sean. That way I can’t be disappointed.” 

Needless to say the three men tidied their makeshift party circle rather quickly.

———

Arthur wasn’t surprised when the quick, little knock came at the door while he was bathing.

“Need any help in there?” The bath attendant girl called out.

“No! No thank you, I’ll be fine.” Arthur replied, quickly trying to work up a lather to wash out his hair, knowing that the quicker he was done then the quicker he would be in a warm bed with an even warmer man. 

He tensed his jaw suddenly, willing away the thoughts of Charles laid out nude on a bed away from his mind because he absolutely was not going to allow himself to become hard in a semi-public bath. He wasn’t too sure what people did in those hotel tin baths but he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to be sticking his hand beneath the milky waters and pleasuring himself. Despite the fact of how stunning the mental image of Charles without a lick of clothing was. 

He scrubbed at his hair, trying to get himself clean as quickly as possible but also the underlying thought in the back of his head to make sure he got clean everywhere was digging at him. He wanted this to be something that was perfect. Something that regular people who didn’t live in tents and took high tea and went for walks in parks did, and if he closed his eyes and blocked out the sounds of the people playing poker outside the bathroom and the general bustle of the saloon downstairs, he could almost imagine he was sat in the bath in his own house. 

His own ranch. 

His ranch he shared with John and his family. With Charles. Maybe even Sadie too. 

He dumped a tin cup of water over his head and forced the thought away with the trickling of the water down his freckled shoulders. 

There were things to be thinking about, but a life away from Dutch and the gang wasn’t one of those things. Not for now at least. 

When he was redressed, into fresh clothes that he had tucked into his satchel and brought into the bathroom with him, he barely thought about the freedoms of bought land and vegetable patches. All he could think about was Charles. His hand shaking with a low, thrumming excitement that reminded him of his teenage years. When you felt as though you were going to pass out because you felt so much so quickly.

It didn’t help that as he sat down mid-afternoon at one of the tables in the Rhodes saloon, a glass of beer in front of him and sweating, Charles swayed into the place. 

Ready for his bath as well. 

He made vague eye contact with Arthur, his mouth threatening to clip up at the edges into a shy smile, but he stopped himself quickly. But the way his eyes lingered on Arthur was enough to have the older man almost swooning. He was his man, and here he was to indulge him with this little play of allowing themselves baths with a few hours apart, to make sure that no one found anything too suspicious. But honestly, Arthur was past caring. Maybe eyes would hardly notice if two men took baths in succession. Maybe it was something that people gave no thought to. 

Better safe than sorry though, and when Charles scooted round one of the tables near him to get to the stairs, Arthur knocked a knuckle on the table to get his attention. Charles stopped in his stride, tossing a look Arthur’s way and Arthur simply just smiled at him. Eyes creasing at the corners and it seemed that time Charles couldn’t hold back his own returning smile and it split across his face dopily. He shook his head once and then set off back upstairs again.

Which left Arthur to the business of acquiring a room for them and as he stood from the table he found that his palms were sweating. Profusely. Enough that he had to make sure not to place his open palms on the counter top of the bar, otherwise he’d leave a hand shaped sweat patch on the glossy wood and no doubt the bartender would expect him to be up to some sort of wrongun’ business. 

“Sir?” The bartender inquired, leaning into Arthur as thought he had been stood there for a moment not saying anything and for a horrified second Arthur wondered if they’d been rumbled somehow, but the feeling passed when the man said, “If you’ve had too much to drink then I’m not servin’ you anymore.” 

Arthur huffed a relieved laugh, “No. Sorry. Got a lot on my mind right now. Uh. You got a room I could rent for tonight?” He tapped a $1 bill on the bar top and the man’s smile went sickly and spread across his face. 

“‘Course, sir. Get that all set up for you now.” He tucked the bill into a small lockbox below the bar and gestured slightly limply to the back rooms behind him, “When you’re ready, head through the door to my right and then it’s the room in front of you.” 

Arthur didn’t mention the fact he had stayed in the room before, all he could focus on was that upstairs Charles was in a hot, steaming bath and he wondered if he was as nervously excited for this as he was. He nodded to the bartender and after digging in his pocket, tossed him a dime, “I—Uh—Might be having a girl around later. You working tonight?” 

“All night, sir. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” The man tucked the dime into his own apron this time, not the lockbox and Arthur smiled and tapped the bar with his hand.

“Good man.”

He decided to give it a while before he headed in, just in case one the chambermaids was still tidying up as it seemed the bartender implied, so he took a smoke outside, angling his body so he could glance up and see the foggy window of the bathroom. Knowing that if the steam were to be wiped away then he’d be able to see the way the water would drift down the soft and sharp juxtaposition of Charles’ biceps. 

The cigarette was pinched a little harder between Arthur’s fingers and when he finally got into the room, the sun was setting curled against the pink skyline and bloomed softly there. Arthur watched as it was eaten by the horizon and he drummed his fingers against the bed frame, waiting for the knock at the door as Charles chose his moment to come in. 

It was a while. Or perhaps not. His stomach was flopping around like a fish and he couldn’t quite tell how long he had been sat in the semi-dark, in total silence. 

Then there were three short raps on the door, Arthur nearly jumping out of skin at then before realising who it was. He laughed nervously, pushing himself off the bed and crossing the room to crack open the door an inch. 

The part of Charles’ face that was visible smirked and asked, “You gonna let me in? I’m trying to be sneaky here.” 

The door was pushed open just enough for Charles to slide in and Arthur mumbled, “Sorry. Gettin’ myself a little worked up here. All nervous.” 

Charles had already started making himself comfortable, pulling off the hat he had on and kicking off his boots, “Nervous? You shouldn’t be. Nobody will care about us while we’re in here.” 

Arthur’s face was unsure as he watched Charles peer up at him from pulling off the second boot, “Sorry. Makes me feel a little...Strange. Never really done anything like this when it’s not pitch dark outside already and everyone around me is too drunk to notice two men necking down an alleyway.” He laughed but it ended with a wringed, tight noise. As though he was trying his hardest to find some humour in his own awkwardness. 

“Hey. Don’t be sorry.” He lifted a hand to brush his thumb over the corner of Arthur’s mouth, “Nobody will bother us here. We’re just like anybody else who stays somewhere with their partner. You don’t have to worry, you can do whatever you want.”

Arthur’s head tilted to the side and he shrugged reticently, “I know, I know. I’m tryin’ to not worry but, if I’m honest...I feel like a girl on her wedding night.” 

“May I suggest something?” Charles’ voice was tender, how someone might speak to a horse as not to spook it. 

Arthur nodded, not voicing anything yet, and Charles said slowly, “Would you let me shave your beard?” 

Arthur’s hand went up instinctively to his face, as thought he had forgotten altogether that his ever growing beard was still attached to his chin. He’d grown used to it being there, despite the fact, for the most part, he preferred it shorter in the summer. Especially somewhere like Lemoyne. 

“Sure. I don’t see why not.” 

Charles beamed, “Sit your ass in that chair with the shaving bowl in your lap and let me get that beast off of you then.”

So, Arthur found himself with Charles swiping the blade of a razor over his face, a look of concentration struck across his face and from where he was sat he could study Charles’ face without it being strange. Although, he had the idea that Charles would probably allow him to study his face if he simply asked to do so. But there he sat, still as he could, Charles’ breath fanning onto his face and the swish swish of the razor shaving away the weeks of beard. 

“How come you always look so smooth?” Arthur asked as Charles wiped off the blade, shaving foam fizzling away on the towel.

“Because I wake up and shave myself every day.” He smiled playfully, tilting up Arthur’s head and pressing the blade along his jaw. The shave clean and intimate. So much so it had Arthur’s heart in his throat and his blood running down south. Something that Charles had already noticed a few minutes ago if the way his eyebrows had shot up and his mouth had gone tight was anything to go by. It was something he didn’t quite understand. Though it probably played into the idea that Charles holding something that could have been used, and even he had once before during a fight where he had to use whatever was at hand, to slit someone’s throat was exciting. As though if he truly wanted, he could drag the glistening silver of it across the fluttering skin of his throat and end Arthur there and then. 

He knew he wouldn’t though. Of course he wouldn’t. 

But it made his cock throb all the same and he had to push the heel of his hand against it, hoping Charles wouldn’t draw attention, and for the most part he didn’t.

The only acknowledgement he gave it was a smug smirk when he tentatively slid the razor across his skin, then pushed it ever so slightly against the paper thin skin underneath Arthur’s jaw. The action dragging out a whimper from Arthur and it seemed to startle both of them. Charles’ eyes going dark and Arthur’s face heating up. 

His voice raw as he murmured, “Please finish up.”

Charles had him shaved in a few moments after that. 

Shaved and shoved up against the wall just to the side of the chair they had been using. 

Shirt still strewn to the side and Charles’ mouth found Arthur’s skin as soon as it could, attaching to his jugular and not letting go until Arthur was panting and scrambling to yank open his jeans, hands shaking so hard that one of Charles’ own hands joined them. Grasping at one of Arthur’s wrists and pushing his thumb into where his pulse was pounding beneath.

“Breathe, Arthur. We don’t need to rush.” His thumb moved in gentle swipes across his wrist and he pulled it towards him after a moment, pressing his mouth to where the crisscross of blue lines lay. Lips soft and warm and Arthur took a deep breath.

“Can we go to the bed?” He asked quietly. 

“We can do whatever you want.”

They sat side by side. Thighs pressed together and Arthur’s hands clasped on his lap as Charles spoke, “Let’s go a little slower. I want to see you.” His hand brushing over Arthur’s knee and when Arthur turned his head to say something, Charles kissed him. Then pulled back almost immediately, “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to shut you up.” 

Arthur chuckled slightly, “No. I think maybe that’d be a good idea. I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up. Nothin’ we haven’t done before.” 

Charles shrugged, “It’s a big step to go from hiding away underneath trees out in the open to having a real bed to lie in. Maybe you just have it hot for wet, slimy grass beneath your ass?” He nudged Arthur’s shoulder with his own playfully, rocking his body and it forced a laugh out of Arthur. 

“I’ll get the stick out of my ass in a moment.”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

“I think—I think that maybe I’m just not used to doing this like regular people might.” 

Charles’ voice was sad as he murmured, “We are regular people. There’s nothing wrong with this.” 

“I’m ruining it.” Arthur lamented.

“Arthur, you’re doing nothing but telling me how you feel. What I’ve wanted for a while.” He took a hold of Arthur’s hand and placed it on his own knee, “Here. You can touch me. Any way that you want. You’re safe.” 

It was like the words sent a shot of sizzling lightning up his arm and Arthur clenched the hand on Charles’ knee involuntarily, voice breathy as he agreed quietly, “ _Yeah. Okay._ ” 

They found themselves sprawled on the bed, Arthur sat with his back to the headboard with Charles’ perched on his lap, doing what could only be described as _smooching_. Their mouths loud in the quiet of the room and Arthur so hard it was almost painful, but he couldn’t pull himself away from Charles’ mouth. The way his tongue dipped into his mouth like it belonged there, licking into him and sucking so hard on his bottom lip that he knew it was going to swollen the next morning. 

It did something strange to his head and he couldn’t help mumbling against Charles’ mouth, “Christ. No wonder the workin’ girls seem to love you.” 

Charles pulled back, looking a little perplexed, “What does that mean?”

Arthur floundered for a moment before he stuttered, “You just...Do things. With your mouth.” 

The grin that wound its way around Charles’ face sent Arthur’s head reeling, “You want me to do those kinds of things to you as well?” He slid a hand across Arthur’s chest, cupping one of his pecs and squeezing, pulling a gasp from Arthur’s lips and those lips trembled gently as Charles continued, “Maybe if you allow me something, I’ll put my mouth on you.” 

The words were barely out of Charles’ mouth before an echo of words was tumbling from Arthur’s, “Okay. Yes.” 

Charles’ glee was unbridled and he asked, tone of voice unwavering so much that it was almost as though he knew that Arthur wasn’t going to say no, but the question was posed anyway, “I want you to take me this time. Would you do that?” 

There was a sound from Arthur’s chest that was the wheeze of all the air leaving him, and when he answered his voice sounded as though he’d been punched in the stomach, “You’d let me?”

“Of course. I don’t mind how we come together.” His thumb circled Arthur’s nipple dangerously, “Plus all the work I did in the bath would go to waste if not.” He shrugged and with careful eyes watched as Arthur’s eyes went wide at the realisation that Charles had pushed his fingers into himself just for the chance that Arthur might agree to fucking him. And why would he ever say no to that idea?

It was something he had thought about a lot since that first night when Charles had sat down on his lap and planted the idea into both of their heads. Of course he loved the way that Charles had laid him down and took him to pieces the first time they had slept together but, he couldn’t deny the pull to be able to push himself into Charles and make him come as hard as he had when Charles had done the same. 

He swallowed, eyes fixed firmly on where Charles’ thighs were spread from where he was straddled on Arthur’s lap, “You touched yourself already?” His hand wavered before cupping the right side of Charles’ ass, “What if I had said no?” 

“Then I would have accepted that and I would ask you what you do want to do. But I probably would have fucked you since I know you like that.” 

Arthur groaned, head thumping back against the headboard, “ _Stop_. Makes me hard when you say stuff like that.”

Charles’ laugh was bright, “Arthur, you’ve been hard for at least fifteen minutes now.” 

“Yeah well, you talkin’ ‘bout how you put your fingers in yourself before you got here making it even harder.” He pouted a little, “Maybe I wanted to do that.” 

Charles rolled his eyes, “The more time we spend talking, the most likely it is that I’m going to need you to do it as well.” 

Arthur blinked at him innocently, leaving a pregnant pause before he said, voice silky, “Well. Better take my time then.” His hand squeezing a palmful of Charles’ ass and Charles pitched forward to kiss him again. Rolling his hips and pushing his ass back into Arthur’s hand and all Arthur wanted to do was to get his pants down and curl his fingers into him so he’d stop being so smug and a know-it-all. It was frustrating that Charles had some deep seated knowledge of how Arthur would work in any situation. 

Frustrating and flustering. 

Charles managed to get his thin, white cotton shirt half undone as they kissed. The buttons slipped out of the holes almost in slow motion and it aggravated Arthur so much that when he got to the bottom three, he took hold of the fabric and tore it open. Sending tiny, pearlescent buttons spraying across the wooden floor and Charles tutted, “ _Arthur._ ”

“Too slow.” 

He didn’t expect Charles’ hand to shoot out moments after he spoke, pushing him back against the headboard and his fingers curled around his collar, threatening to curl even further around his neck and he _knew_ what that did to him. But it just settled there, holding Arthur back against the wood behind him with little more than the pressure of a cigarette paper and suggestion, “I thought I told you. Take it easy. We’re here to take our time.” 

Arthur didn’t know what to do other than nod and mutter, “Yeah.” Watching as Charles’ hand retreated, tucking itself back against Arthur’s pec and in a suddenly burst of nervousness he said, “You comfy?” 

Charles’ face went soft and he replied, “Mhm. Am I heavy?” He shifted a little, rubbing his ass against the front of Arthur’s jeans and Arthur had to slide his eyes shut and compose himself a moment before he affirmed, 

“Uh. Yes, actually.” He paused, then added, “That’s not bad though. It’s nice. I like it. Feels like I’m really here.”

“But not _too_ heavy, right?” 

Arthur looked at Charles so dreamily that he was sure he probably looked completely stupid, but he couldn’t help himself, “You feel good. I like you bein’ on me.” He secured his hands on Charles’ waist, pushing his fingers into the soft flesh there and pulling him towards him an inch more, almost marvelling at how Charles looked sitting atop him. He was beautiful. Tall and wide and soft. Arthur never thought much of his own body but Charles’ just seemed to work for him, the way it wrapped around him strong and like every part was meant to be there. 

Not to mention that it sucked the air from Arthur’s lungs to know that a man so handsome would even look twice at him, let alone _be with him_. His eyes, his nose, his brow. The lightning bolt of a scar that shot it’s way up his plump cheek and Arthur wanted to cup his face and kiss it every morning, and the nagging thought of you could you could you could snuck it’s way in almost daily since John had mentioned becoming ranchers. 

To imagine the joy of rolling over in a real bed to see Charles there, on his own land where no one would look or bother them. Where the people who shared that land were his family and cared about his life and his happiness. 

Charles touched his cheek gently, “You still in there?” 

Arthur rumbled a laugh, “Sorry. Just thinkin’ about how pretty you are.” 

Charles mirrored the laugh and brushed some of his hair over his shoulder, lowering his eyelids and then batting his eyelashes at Arthur like a Southern Belle, “You think so?” 

“I think that we need to get some’a these clothes off so I can touch you more.” The statement ending with Arthur’s hand smoothing over the bulge in the front of Charles’ pants and Charles slid his eyes all the way shut at it, inhaling once and then humming in agreement. 

There wasn’t much romanticism or tact when it came to their undressing, it wasn’t like the camping trip they had taken where it had been slow and deliberate. Just two grown men almost giggling as they stood from the bed and pulled off all the clothing they could until they stood in front of each other, stark naked and Arthur pulled Charles in by the small of his back until they were pressed up against each other. A solid line. Mouths back on each other until Charles angled away so he could grope a hand towards his satchel, Arthur allowing the movement because he was pretty sure what was going to be retrieved.

Sure enough they ended up with Charles perched on Arthur’s lap again, after Arthur claimed that he wanted Charles to stay on top of him and Charles had grinned and said how it was lucky that he had such strong thighs. When he said it, Arthur’s hand smoothed over his right thigh, brushing his palm up until he could cup the swell of his hip, the touch light and sweet. Like he was getting lost in marvelling at Charles once again. Arthur’s truest foil, the ability to get completely stuck touching Charles and watching the way he would shudder under his touch. 

“You like touching me.” Charles supplied.

Arthur went pink, “Uh, well—”

“It’s nice. I like it. I can feel how much you love me when you touch me. Lord knows you don’t seem able to articulate it yet.” 

Arthur ducked his head, “Sorry.”

Charles whapped a large hand on his sternum making Arthur jump slightly, “Stop it! I’m joking, Arthur. I don’t mind about that. Now, please, as much as I like this, touch me here.” The hand that had smacked Arthur descended until it could grab a hold of Arthur’s hand, leading it to where Charles’ cock was tucked flush against his belly. Dark and wet and it was almost as though now he had been given the explicit allowance to touch Charles in that way, he couldn’t stop himself. His fist closing around him and stroking from the bottom up, eyes torn between looking at the way Charles’ mouth went slack or the dribble of precum that slid over his knuckles. 

After that, it was truly as though a switch had been flipped. 

Arthur stroked Charles slow, his other hand closing around his hip and doing its best to hold him down against his lap. Not that it worked too well, Charles wriggling around from sensation and his hips fucking up into Arthur’s hip every time that he could. Not that Arthur was going to stop him. The way his thighs trembled and his cock pulsed was hypnotising, as was watching the way Charles’ face went from almost serene, eyes shut and bottom lip caught between his teeth, flustered and tight. 

Despite the fact he was slightly more in tune with his emotions, and in turn expressing them, Charles wasn’t too far off from Arthur. Both of them were reserved. They pulled themselves back where possible, and often it was hard to look at Charles’ face and truly understand what he was feeling. Charles had even spoken to him before about how he himself often found himself looking at people and having no idea of what they were expressing to him. He had followed the admission with a shrug of his shoulders and Arthur hadn’t really understood what it meant. 

Perhaps here, in this enclosed room all to themselves, Charles felt as though he could let loose in some ways. Which seemed so when Arthur managed to drag his eyes away from his hand moving up and down on Charles’ erection, scanning up to his face once more. The bottom lip now let go and his head canted to the side, his ear almost resting on his shoulder. Eyes shut and mouth slack, and when Arthur squeezed his hand a little tight on the upstroke Charles would choke out a groan. The sound of it unusual in that it was almost reedy, like part of Charles wasn’t used to _making_ that noise. 

Like every time they had fucked before, he had been holding something back, and now he was allowing himself the luxury of it all, and when Arthur’s hand retreated from his cock the noise he made was close to one might might if you had been punched. A deep, rolling whine and his hips lurched up and his eyes shot open, voice slurring as he said, “Why’d y’stop?” 

Arthur grinned, flattening his palm up the heat of Charles’ erection, smearing the dampness that curled at the top into his rolled stomach, “You’re enjoyin’ yourself, huh?”

Charles just nodded, his own hand moving to touch his cock and Arthur allowed it, sitting back against the headboard and watching as Charles stroked himself. His hand moving a little tighter and slower than Arthur had been touching him. Obviously the way that he usually pleasured himself. Personal and intimate knowledge that Arthur tucked into the back of his mind. 

He could understand it though. The room with its locked door and drawn curtains had a magnetic pull that drew out all of your worry when it came to being found or heard, which always came with them kissing outside the camp amongst the tall grass and trees. Like you were never quite focused on what you were doing. It was no way to have sex, Arthur determined that objectively after a moment of seeing Charles lose himself in the sensation of a soft bed, a warm man and his hardness clasped in his hand. 

Perhaps the nudeness helped as well. There was nothing to hide behind now. No shirts or pants getting in the way. Just exposed, gorgeous dark skin and his partner allowing themselves to let go enough to feel as though they could make those sounds and move luxuriously against his lap, thighs spread and Arthur was suddenly reminded of what Charles had gotten from his satchel. A small tin of _something_ that Charles had made himself. Arthur still wasn't quite sure what it was made of though, Charles had explained it once but when Arthur had scratched his head, Charles had just shown him. 

Whatever he had put into that mixture that filled the tin worked about twice as well as hair pomade did for its intended use, and when Arthur had been a little more healed up from his shoulder, Charles and him had been horribly daring and Charles had fingered him inside his covered wagon’s tent until he was having to bite down on his fist to keep noise from spewing from his mouth. Charles’ fingers curling inside him easily because, whatever the hell it was, it wasn't tacky or sticky and it had been so easy for three of Charles’ fingers to push into him. Not quite as big as Charles’ cock had been but it had been the first thing Arthur had had in him since they had slept together, and it had been so good. 

So when his hand closed around the tin, shaking gently, he managed to tug it open and the dull sound of it had Charles eyes slipping open and darting towards it. His mouth split into a grin when he realised what Arthur was going to do and he dragged his hips to and fro on Arthur’s lap and the older man remembered that he too was hard. Charles’ ass was soft and if he angled it right Arthur could have pushed up in between his cheeks and slid himself between them, something he would sure would have Charles squirming on his lap. He stopped himself though and settled for peering up at Charles who could have had a halo hung around the crown of his head the way Arthur’s eyes shone at him. 

“You gonna do something with that?” Charles nudged his chin towards the tin of slick that Arthur was still hanging onto and the older man flushed. It was obvious that even though Charles was going to be the one getting fucked, he still seemed to hold some sort of charge over the both of them, and it made Arthur’s cock twitch. Even when he was the one taking it he brimmed with this knowledge and calm, cool control. 

Arthur nodded in response, licked his lips and then murmured, “Might be a little rusty.” 

Charles snickered at that, cheeks ruddy and as he spoke he pulled a hair tie from his wrist and bound his hair back into a bun atop his head, “Making excuses now, huh?” He blew some stray baby hairs away from his forehead and pushed himself up a little so his ass hovered over Arthur’s hips, willing Arthur to get on with it and it made Arthur chuckle a little. Watching Charles’ eyebrows raise and his hands settle onto his shoulders, allowing him enough room to get his fingers wet, and when he found Charles’ hole with the fingertips of his middle and ring finger the mirth slipped away into awe. 

He rubbed his fingers over him, circling his hole and getting him slick. The fact that he himself knew how that exact thing felt spurring him on. He wanted Charles to feel the way that he had when the younger man had pushed his fingers into him because it was _good_. It might have been one of Arthur’s favourite things, aside from kissing Charles, and with that thought he pushed a finger into Charles. 

Watching the way his shoulders rolled with the sensation and Arthur couldn’t help himself as he said, “You did this in the bath?” To which Charles nodded quickly and Arthur continued with, “So if I were to do this, it’d be alright?” And after curling the first finger in him a few times, pushed in his ring finger alongside his middle. 

Charles’ back bowed ever so slightly and he retreated back into his position of straddling Arthur’s lap, sat straight up and all it served to do was to push Arthur’s fingers further into him, the sensation making Charles gasped wetly and Arthur was sure it must have been _tight_. His fingers around the same size as Charles’, and he knew for a fact that the stretch from one finger to two for him needed to be taken slowly. 

But Charles took them so well, and of his own volition. His hips and ass pushed back against Arthur’s hand, grinding against them and as Arthur spread them inside of the younger man he watched the trickle of precum that spilled from his cock. 

He pushed back his own need at the sight, his fingers moving inside Charles until he was rocking his hips rhythmically against them, his own hands cupped around his chest and Arthur could see the way he dragged his palms across the dark peaks of his nipples. The curve of his chest rising and falling in time with the movement of his hips and Arthur wanted so badly to remove Charles’ hands from his chest and secure his mouth there but he was so engaged in the movement of his fingers inside him he was surely likely to not be able to to concentrate on both, too lost in Charles’ body and its reactions. 

He startled a little when Charles murmured, “It’s okay, you can do another.” Arthur presumed he meant fingers and when he pressed the tip of a third cautiously into Charles he got his answer when Charles nodded his head quickly, riding back against it and when Arthur’s palm could cup Charles’ ass cheek and all three fingers had disappeared entirely into him, Charles sighed. As though he were relieved. 

It went quickly from there and if Arthur were to think back on it, the tumble of Arthur fucking his fingers into Charles and the younger man pressing back against them until he was panting and forcing himself to stop otherwise he was going to come, it would have seemed to blur all together until it culminated into Arthur holding Charles’ ass. Spreading him open so that Charles could take a hold of Arthur’s cock, and after a few attempts that left both of them glancing at each other and sniggering secretively, he sank down on him. Not stopping until he was settled and Arthur’s hands were so tight on Charles’ thighs that he had to physically pull them away so he could link their fingers. 

“You okay?” Charles whispered, obviously just as overcome with feeling as Arthur was, and Arthur took it upon himself to pull one of his hands away and touch Charles’ cheek. Feeling how hot the skin was to the touch and he barely had to help the movement along before Charles was leaning forward to kiss him, groaning into Arthur’s mouth as he began the slow slide of his hips as well. The movement stuttered, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to and Arthur assumed that despite how well attuned to being on the other side, perhaps he wasn’t quite as associated with being in the position he currently was in. 

Arthur remedied it a little, his mouth still in close quarters with Charles’ as he murmured, “I’m fine. You?” 

Charles grinned and Arthur could feel the pull of his lips against his own, “Mhm. Didn’t expect it to feel so...Y’know.” He paused and his mouth did something indeterminate before he followed it up with, “Big.” 

Arthur had to stop himself from guffawing at that, and he was so thankful that Charles ended up laughing along with him, “Christ. Well, now you know how I felt. Couldn’t walk right after that first time.” 

Charles drew his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes sparkling and it was then he began to move himself in earnest. Rolling his hips and Arthur got caught in the snare of them, following the way they canted back and forth and when he finally got the idea to follow along with them, pushing himself into Charles to suit the rhythm, it had Charles groaning. His hips now clasped in Arthur’s grasp and it was like watching spirals play on the surface of the lake outside camp. Drawing you in and keeping you following them again and again. Charles slightly unsure with his movements but the way he followed through with them it was obvious that it felt good, his hands flat just below Arthur’s sternum and his cock still hard and bobbing against his stomach. 

“It’s good. You feel good.” Charles conceded after a second, hips moving a little quicker as though he was slowly becoming more and more confident, letting himself go a little, even if the movements themselves were still a little rudimental. “We’re doing this again.” He purported shakily, the sentence punctuated with a loud whine when Arthur’s hips snapped up into Charles a little harder than they had been. The noise going straight to Arthur’s head and he did it again. And again. 

He watched as Charles’ face went slack and his hips stuttered, his hands scrunching up on Arthur’s stomach and he managed to gasp out, “Put your hand around me.” Arthur did so immediately, though Charles then pushed his fist down to the base of his cock where he wanted, and added, “Squeeze. I don’t want to finish yet.”

Arthur, once again, did as told. The dark, hot tangle of letting Charles take charge winding its way around his mind and he croaked out, “Sweetheart, that’s all well and good but, I’m not gonna last.” Because really, he probably could have come when Charles was shaving his beard if he had touched himself while he did it. The work up to getting the room was enough to set his nerves on edge and with the hot, wet pull of Charles’ insides, he was surprised he’d lasted as long as he had. It had been a fair amount of time since he’d been in someone. 

Charles nodded, half listening to Arthur, but keeping his hips moving at their steady cadence, pushing Arthur into him and then sighing when he came up. Then sank back down again, making Arthur’s thighs tremble and it didn’t help with the fact that when Charles sat down hard on his cock he was _heavy_. Putting his weight into it and the warm, comfortable heaviness of the curve of his ass putting pressure against his hip bones had him close to the edge. Reminding him of the sensation of Charles all around him when they had fucked that first time, hard and weighted. 

His voice was a creaking whine as he managed to articulate the single word of, “Charles.” And Charles noticed that, pushing Arthur’s hand off his cock and his own taking its place. His free hand sliding so his thumb could press over one of Arthur’s nipples and he spoke surprisingly calmly considering he too was probably on the verge of coming. 

“It’s alright. You can come.” The hand on his chest travelled to tilt Arthur’s face up so he could look at Charles, away from the magnetic pull of watching Charles’ hips swivel on him. His voice deep and licking sweet at the sides of Arthur’s brain as he used a term of endearment that Arthur had yet to hear from him, the slight twang of Arthur’s own accent creeping into it as though Charles was so used to him saying it he could only copy it, “Darlin’, if you come now then we can save the rest of that tin, because I know you’re going to need me to take you tomorrow morning.” Which, of course, Arthur had thought about given the room was paid for and they were definitely going to be sleeping there overnight, but with the verification from Charles, it was made all too real. 

It sent a whirl of lightheaded blustering through his mind and his hands covered his face for a moment, shy of his own expression, moaning muffled into his palms. His hips lurched up into Charles twice and the younger man gasped, his hand still around his cock and it made Arthur’s head spin that Charles was just as close to coming because of him. The way he fucked Charles. 

Charles managed to drag Arthur’s hands away from his face though, his eyes big and he gazed at him expectantly as he continued to fuck himself. Huge, shimmering eyes fixed on Arthur as he raised one of Arthur’s wrists and pressed a kiss to the inside of it. 

He wasn’t sure why that was what did it but Arthur bucked up his hips as Charles sunk himself down again and came. Sucking in a huge, shaking breath and moaning reedy and far too high for his usual tone, the sound fizzling out with what could only be described as a keen as Charles sunk his teeth into the thin skin of Arthur’s wrist. Not letting go until Arthur had stopped twitching, his hips circling on top of the older man and he seemed to be revelling in the sensation of Arthur _coming in him_. Which Arthur understood, it was a strange feeling but it was so terribly intimate that you almost couldn’t help but lose yourself in it. If only for a moment. 

Arthur let his head fall back against the headboard once more, the wooden thump of it making Charles huff a laugh which had Arthur laughing too. Both of them sat there with Charles still hard and Arthur’s chest heaving up and down as he tried to regain his bearings and he commented quietly, “Baby. You gonna let me get you off or are you just gonna sit on that till it gets hard again?” 

Charles flushed all the way down to his shoulders, though a little hard to see against his deep skin but Arthur could tell in the way his shoulders raised bashfully and it was the same demeanor the last time they had fucked. Charles hot and heavy during but as soon as it calmed a little, he let a touch of embarrassment creep into him. Which Arthur didn’t want, so he gestured (a little out of breath still) for Charles to pull himself off his cock, which was softening inside him anyway. 

“Come here. Come here, I wanna help.” Both of them hissing under their breath as Charles pulled himself off Arthur, and in a quick swooping motion, Arthur had Charles positioned where he wanted. A sharp sound of shock making its way out of Charles as he was bundled further and further up Arthur’s body until he was almost bracketing Arthur’s face. The older man scooting his body down until he practically was and, with a hand tucked underneath himself so he wasn’t _leaking_ on Arthur’s collarbones, Charles choked out, “A—Arthur. Are you sure?” 

Arthur just tugged Charles down a little further, until Charles could feel the heat of his breath against him, “Of course I am. Come on, honey. Sit down.” His voice and hands coaxed Charles tenderly until he was lowering himself on shaking legs the final part of the way, and then Arthur’s mouth was on him. His own hands flung out so he could grasp the headboard and at the first swipe of his tongue against him Charles rocked forward, crying out weakly. Evident that he wasn’t going to be lasting long. 

Which he didn’t, not with the way Arthur tongue was sliding over him, licking his own spend from him. Stuck between Arthur’s mouth and his own hand on his cock as he rocked his hips back and forth between the two sensations, the fingers still curled around the headboard taut and Arthur hoped that the noise of the late night saloon, the poker games and music, was enough to drown out the panting whimpers that Charles was making. 

His air of control lost completely as Arthur pushed his tongue into where he was loose and it took three more strokes of his hand to have him coming with a sharp, whimper. His fist flew up to cup his cock to his belly as soon as he did, making sure that none of it got on the headboard or God forbid, in Arthur’s hair. 

Then as quickly as he had been pulled up onto Arthur’s face, he was rolled over ever so carefully onto the bed next to Arthur. Brain still bleary from the fact Arthur had done _that_ , and as soon as his eyes were focused enough to see properly, he blinked at the man beside him. Then laughed wearily. 

“You have a wet face.” 

Arthur wiped a hand over his shining mouth, “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m stating a fact.” He paused and then murmured, “Kiss me.” 

Which Arthur did immediately, crowding Charles and kissing him so hard that if you had given him about fifteen minutes, Charles could have gone again. Something that he voiced and had Arthur squawking a laugh and pushing him away, “Christ, I’been riding around all this morning doing errands for Dutch. My ass hurts. Not sure I can function any more this evening.”

“Your ass hurts? You weren’t the one who was getting it. I feel like I run from Strawberry to Valentine without a stop!” Charles rubbed his thighs dramatically, “Next time we get a room you’re gonna sit on me and we’ll see how easy it is to ride someone the way I just did.”

“Well now you’re just being big headed.” 

“Come here.” Charles cooed, with a small roll of his eyes, pulling Arthur into the circle of his arms and pressing kisses to his forehead that had Arthur smiling bashfully against his neck, and when he spoke it was muffled by it, 

“We really gonna do it all again in the morning?” His voice was tentative. 

“Only if you want.” 

“Considering it’s been months since you last fucked me, a’course I want.” 

“We just did!”

“No, I mean—you know what I mean!” His face slid into a semi-pout and Charles kissed it away.

“I know what you mean. Yes. We can.” He tucked a piece of Arthur’s hair behind his face and added, “I’m glad we did shave you before that. I don’t want to find out what beard burn feels like when you’re sitting on a horse's saddle for a few hours.” To which Arthur sniggered and rubbed at his now smoothe cheeks.

“Am I still handsome?”

“What kind of question is that? Yes. Always.”

Arthur grinned shyly, ducking his head a little and when he glanced back up he asked gently, “Want a cigarette?” And Charles just nodded, and they set about gathering up and folding clothes, and Arthur watched sadly as Charles tugged on his work pants. Bidding a parting farewell to the softness of his behind. 

Something that was echoed by Charles when Arthur pulled out a pair of his own soft pants from his bag, slightly easier to sit around in than the hard denim of the jeans he had been wearing, “I was quite enjoying you nude.” 

Arthur chuckled, shucking out his cigarettes from the bag as well and offering one to Charles who took it into his hand gratefully, “I’ll take ‘em off when we’re ready for bed. Forgive me for not wanting to be floppin’ around.”

Charles wrinkled his nose, “Arthur, that’s horrible.”

Arthur grinned, “Maybe.” 

They settled for sitting on the bed smoking together, Charles between Arthur’s legs as the older man attempted to braid his partner’s hair in a plait. Which was going relatively well, the cigarette hanging dangerously out the corner of Arthur’s mouth and he mumbled to Charles, “You got so much hair. You must spend so much time brushing. Probably as much time as Javier does.” The mention of the Mexican man’s name bringing the memory of them stumbling upon him, Sean and Lenny to the forefront of his mind and Arthur quickly added, “Did you know about those three?”

Charles shook his head, until Arthur tuttled and smacked his shoulder as he was still trying to braid his hair, “Sorry, sorry. But—uh—no?” He tucked up his knees so he could rest his cheek on them, “Boys will be boys.”

“I thought that was for when you end up wrestling...Not when you’re out kissin’ in the woods.” 

“They’re probably just bored. Young.” He shrugged, “Better than robbing. Plus, we live outside the law. Unsurprising that many of us live...different lives.” He sniffled a little, as though he was almost succumbing to the gentle lull of sleep with the attention Arthur was giving his hair, “When I was about eighteen I knew these two men. Ranchers. Worked on their ranch for a little while when I didn’t have anywhere else to go. At the time I didn’t think about it much but...You know, I think they were married. In their own way.”

He paused, as though he was unsure if Arthur was listening, so the older man hummed a little, “Mhm?” And Charles continued on. 

“They seemed real happy. Had the big ranch house to themselves and their dogs. Bunch of cattle as well, some milking some bloodstock. They weren’t affectionate in front of me, but you could tell that they had this affection for each other. One day I caught them sat on their porch, drinking beers and they were pretty old even then. Maybe Hosea’s age? They were talking about something from when they were in their twenties, and one of ‘em told the other that they were as handsome then as they were back then.” His voice wavered as he spoke, as though the memory of it stirred something within him, “It was really something. They lived out there and nobody bothered them.”

The plait was done. Laid a little wonky against Charles’ back which was still dampened with a sheen of sweat.

“Y’know. John offered us a place. If we ever wanted it. He’s got this idea that one day he’ll be a rancher. Pipe dream, of course. But, if you wanted it...If you wanted me still one day when perhaps it’ll be possible, there’s a spot on a plot of land where we could all be.” 

Charles’ voice crackled and Arthur was glad they weren’t sitting face to face because he was quite obviously trying to hide the emotion in his voice as he simply said, “Mhm. I’d want that.” 

Arthur brushed some of the stray hair from Charles’ neck as Charles pushed his hand against his face, like he was attempting to push the feeling back into his eyes as it threatened to spill from them onto his cheeks. Arthur’s hand soothed its way along the slope of his now exposed neck and he followed it with his mouth. Pressing a kiss to the soft skin beneath his sewn up ear and he murmured, almost into the skin itself, “Better learn how to tend cattle then, sweetheart. Or maybe goats.” 

Charles supplied wetly, “Sheep?” 

“Anything you want.” He rested his cheek against the curve of Charles’ shoulder and murmured it again, “ _Anything_ you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my fic and i get to say who is gay!!!!! everyone is!! but for real, given the history of cowboys often being black and mexican and native and GAY, you expect the gang to not be full of a bunch of gay boys???? and lesbians? 
> 
> that includes charles being trans masc nb like charles really just went one day :) hm..........*shoots at himself with a transgenderifcation beam and becomes nb*
> 
> aNYWAY. last chapter next. 
> 
> please please please consider kudos + commenting if you havent because fanfic writers dont ask for much, even if the comment is just like "jfklgjkdfl" i will treasure it. it takes ONEEEEE second to help me out.
> 
> twitter: cowboywav  
> tumblr: cowboyism


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said one more chapter but then realised it's ridiculous to post another chapter over 10k so im splitting these up, so expect the fiNAL chapter in a few days. 
> 
> also i realised after reading emily's (anderfels on here) last chapter of her charthur fic that we both ended up writing about the nickname "sunshine" being used and i think maybe it was somehow mlm wlw solidarity between us without even realising. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy!

Charles hadn’t meant to spend the best part of an hour staring at Arthur, he had even attempted to force himself back to sleep for a little while longer, just to be able to revel in the warm embrace of a lie in for once. But there he was, hand tucked stiffly beneath his head in order to prop it up enough to cast the shadow of his glance across the curve of Arthur’s nose as it snuggled (snuggled! Snuggled, of all things!) into the pillow beneath him. 

His mouth propped open slightly as he snored quietly, something that Charles was aware that he did already, but to see it this close and in the confines of the same bed was almost frighteningly awe inspiring. He was almost prompted to shield his face as though he were looking directly at the daunting glow of the sun, and he thought in a sappy blur that if Arthur was the sun, then he was the moon trailing wantonly forever after him. Just trying to wallow for a single second in that warmth.

Then shook his head lightly and tried to get that thought out of his head because even Javier would have cringed at how saccharine sickly and stupid that was. 

He reached a hand out carefully and it hovered over Arthur’s now almost smooth cheeks, shaking with the strength he had to muster to not immediately cup his face and press kisses to every part of skin he could find. Then, ever so gently and slowly, he touched him. Soft as the touch of his struck match to Arthur’s cigarillo that night of Sean’s party. Soft and it twisted something inside Charles’ chest to watch the line of Arthur’s face slot into his hand as easy as the sweep of Arthur’s pencil across his diary pages. Easy and _known_. 

Charles watched as Arthur leant into the cup of his palm, and he drank it in. Gulping down Arthur and he could feel the rise and fall of his chest at the overwhelming sensation of the touch, so he squeezed the fingers of his free hand as though he was pumping his own heart within his palm. A soothing action that controlled him and after a moment he was able to breathe free and evenly. Arthur was no longer overwhelming but centering and he groaned under his breath because he was really going to _have_ to embarrass himself at some point when he no doubt called Arthur his “sunshine”. 

Arthur inhaled sharply and Charles cooed at him, his thumb swiping over his cheekbone and Arthur immediately stilled, his breathing evening back into the lull of his snores and it struck Charles how undeniably peaceful he looked. As though his usual mountainous helping of worries were absolutely nowhere near them. Shut at the door to the hotel room where they couldn’t follow Arthur and disturb the contented corners of his sleep. 

The clawing feeling of want and _need_ to allow Arthur to forever look that peaceful, even while awake, hit Charles so hard that he had to draw his hand away. Like he had been burned by the sudden sharpness of it. 

Arthur’s brow creased as soon as he did, the grooves sliding deep into his forehead and Charles panicked for a second before leaning in and kissing a cure of ease back into them. Drawing Arthur against him and he gazed down as Arthur, with his eyes still shut, snuffled into the waking world and his voice was shuddering as he asked, “Are you there?” Obviously still half asleep and confused. But even so, he pushed even further into the arc of Charles’ arms, Charles watching the way his sandy hair curled around the crown of his head like a halo fanned around an icon in a painting. 

“I’m here.” Was all Charles said in response. 

Voice solid and searching for Arthur in his half awake state.

The words seemed to comfort Arthur in an instant and the sound that rumbled from the clutch of his ribs was so similar to the noise of a pleased cat it almost made Charles’ eyes water. He settled for gathering Arthur closer, till they were entirely chest to chest and he sighed happily as Arthur lounged against him. Stretching his arms out around Charles’ strong shoulders, again all too similar to the way a house cat would stretch in a found slice of sunlight blaring across a hardwood floor. 

His eyes were still closed though, the brush of his eyelashes soft against his freckled face and when Charles pushed into his space, breathing his air, Arthur grinned a wobbly smile. The expression lumbering goofily across his features, his face a picture of someone who could be a fresh faced eighteen year old, not a thirty six year old man. Charles made him young and foolish like that; though not as foolish in the way he was used to. 

Arthur followed it with a pucker of his lips, attempting to beg a smooch from the man in front of him with his eyes still closed as though he was feigning sleep. 

Charles grinned right back and murmured, “You look stupid.” 

“You look stupider for not kissin’ me.” Arthur groused. Though how he could know that with his eyes closed, Charles wasn’t sure.

He then blinked open an eye. Cracking it open to test the waters for how Charles might have taken that, and when his eyes focused on the younger man, he was beaming at him. His eyes crinkled at the corners and Arthur barely had time to take it in before Charles was pressing their lips together, slightly dry and slightly off target. Catching Arthur on the corner of his mouth before an awkward huff of laughter from both of them and a quick realignment. 

It reminded him of the first kiss they had shared. Not an event that was entirely worthy of fanfare but stuck firmly in Charles’ mind as an important moment for him nevertheless. The way Arthur had shaken in his arms like he was overcome with so _much_ that maybe in hindsight it was something that had perhaps at least been worthy of Javier crooning in the background with the soft plucking of his guitar. Something to suit the fact that Charles’ heart had leapt into his stomach, even at that simple, homely press of dry mouths against each other. 

When they pulled away Arthur shuddered a little, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up with sensation. Though not with fright or anything negative, of course, and he licked his lips before he whispered conspiratorially, “I think I deserve to wake up every mornin’ like this.”

Charles smiled smugly and his hand travelled the downy fuzz of the small of Arthur’s back, “Are you just saying that because we haven’t got any clothes on?” 

Charles watched as the flush on Arthur’s cheeks slunk its way down to his collarbone and he tried to push his face into the crook of Charles’ neck to muffle his nervous laughter, “Well. Yes, I suppose that helps.” He shivered slightly as Charles’ hand pressed down the notches of his spine and he added softly, “I just like you being here. You’re usually up and gone in the mornings when you’ve slept on my floor.” 

The younger man could hear the slightly sad lilt to Arthur’s voice despite the fact he was doing his best to not let anything flash across his face, especially now that Charles had dug him out from his neck and had Arthur right in front of him. His eyes scanning his face and the careening slope of Arthur’s upturned eyebrows had Charles leaning in and dragging their mouths together, a shadow of a kiss but he could feel the way Arthur sagged into him.

“M’sorry.” He mumbled into his sleep soft mouth, “Early riser. I don’t want to be leaving you alone at the wagon. You always look so pretty in the morning when you’re asleep, I like to watch you.” 

Arthur’s mouth twisted bashfully, “I’m not _pretty_.”

“You’re something. You’re something.” Charles repeated, almost nonsensically, as he squeezed Arthur against him and pressed kisses over every patch of free skin he could on Arthur’s face until Arthur was snuffling laughter and attempting to pry him away from him. 

“Alright, alright. Think I met a man like you once while I was about. He’s been watching some poor woman up past the ridge. You some sort of stalker? Watching me when I’m sleepin’?” His smile was lazy and cheeky, teeth bared and Charles wanted to run his tongue along them. 

“Did my fair share of staring back at Colter I think. Now I gaze.” 

“Oh, you _gaze_ , huh?” 

“Not gonna comment on the Colter part then?” Charles grinned right back and Arthur couldn’t help but notice the way his hair was slightly mussed from being against the pillow, or how when he cupped Charles’ face he could feel and see the ever so slight stubble that had grown in. He even felt a little like swooning at the sleep he could see swiped in the corner of Charles’ eyes. So rare it was to see him not looking at least ninety percent perfect in every way, he was always so well kept and borderline Javier levels of clean. So much so that the morning’s gifts of still sleepy eyes and bed hair were entirely endearing, making Arthur’s heart hammer in his chest. 

Arthur only just managed to comprehend what Charles had said, snapping back to the conversation with a quick shake of his head against the pillow and he drawled as he stretched his back a little, “I don’t rightly know why you’d want to be staring at me back on that mountain. I looked like shit and I felt like shit. Cold. Tired.” He pulled a face as though he had tasted something unpleasant, “Was eating like shit. Not exactly the most charmin’ of places to be kindling some sort of romantic feeling for me.” 

Charles shrugged, obviously not put off by what Arthur had said, “That hunting trip we took...I enjoyed it. You impressed me with the way you used the bow.” His teeth grazed Arthur’s jawline, “I like that blue coat. The colour suits you. I thought you looked so handsome, couldn’t help but look.”

“Should’a told me you were sweet on me earlier, imagine how much warmer we could have been if we were sleeping together up there. The frostbite I almost got in my toes was all because you didn’t come on over and tell me that. I’m afraid, Charles, I will never forgive you for that one.” 

Charles’ eyes rolled (fondly, of course) so hard he almost gave himself a headache, “You’re an ass.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure why, but that set him off into a bout of wheezing laughter and Charles soon followed along. Spurred by the idiotic smile split across Arthur’s face and the crinkle of his eyes, Charles dragging up a hand to cover his face as he laughed. Aware that he often looked rather foolish when the huge, belly laughs got into him. Which wasn’t very often. Though more often than usual now that he was spending so much time with Arthur, who was an endless source of amusement. Even if he himself wasn’t aware of it. 

Arthur’s hand pried Charles’ from his face as soon as he did though, tugging till his wrist was down by his side and captured loosely in the ring of Arthur’s grip, “Stop that.” Arthur held the hand firmly down until Charles had calmed down a little and was just sniggering lamely, “Wanna see you.” He licked his lips, “You’re real handsome like this.” Accenting his words by brushing some of the tiny curls at Charles’ hairline back, Arthur’s eyes honeyed so much that Charles had to glance away. The stars hung in them far too bright that it would have made his own eyes water to look into them too long. 

“Oh. Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur exhaled gently, still fixated on Charles’ face, “Lord, I hope we have many more mornings just like this.” 

Charles couldn’t keep the wobble from his voice as he replied, “If we took up John’s offer, we’d have them every day.”

The sigh just seemed to slip out of Arthur and he muttered, voice a little too close to a tired groan, “I know, sweetheart. I know. But we got other things to be thinkin’ about right now.” He soothed Charles with a kiss on his temple, “We’ll get there.” His mouth travelled a little further south and kissed the side of Charles’ nose, his voice turning gravelly and heated, “You know, I do really like more of the stubble on you.”

Charles brushed a hand over his cheek, “You do?” Mouth curling up at the corners and he watched as Arthur’s pupils blew out like ink in water, pressing their hips together and realising how much Arthur _really liked_ the stubble. 

“You’re the sweetest thing around, old thing.” He tipped Arthur’s face up by his chin as he spoke, watching the bob of his Adam’s apple and safe in the knowledge that Arthur was probably always going to be captivated by him, as he was for Arthur. The idea cemented when Arthur went even redder, it leaking to the tips of his ears and Charles cooed softly, “Do you not like it when I call you soft words? You do it to me?”

Arthur’s head whipped side to side in a shake, “No. I like it. I really like it. Makes it feel real.” 

“This is real, Arthur.” 

The grin Charles got in return from Arthur was creeping and slow, but nervous, “You askin’ me to be your man then?” 

Charles’ nose wrinkled in amusement, “I’ve only been courting you for months now, I’d hoped that by now you might have caught on.” He sighed, feigning dramatics playfully, but then added a little more seriously, “You know, for me...This is it, Arthur.”

He didn’t mean to sound so doubtful, it slithered out of him like something unpleasant and unwanted as he said to Charles, “Might not feel that one day.”

Charles’ answer was almost instantaneous, “I’m not thinking about then, I’m thinking about now and right now you are it for me.” He locked Arthur’s gaze with his eyes, not letting them go as he kept them in his grip and his hand, which had migrated to Arthur’s waist, tightened itself there. His fingers sinking into the cool flesh, like he was attempting to anchor Arthur to him, afraid of him slipping away. 

All Arthur could do was breathe, “Ah. Okay.” And then as almost a defense mechanism, a smirk split across his face and his leg hooked itself around Charles’ hip, Charles grabbing a hold of it as soon as it touched him. Smoothing his hand across the fine dusting of hair along the top of Arthur’s thigh, and he wondered if it would be too far to move his hand around to cup his ass. 

His question immediately was answered as Arthur inquired with a sharp look in his eyes, “We gonna make good on that offer from last night then?” 

Charles’ nose found its way into Arthur’s neck once more and he didn’t bother to answer until he had Arthur sighing with the way he was sucking on the tendons of his neck, “Of course we can.”

It was already pretty stifling underneath the blanket they had draped over them, their bodies pressed together slick with a thin layer of sweat and it wasn’t hard to arch into Arthur and slide their hips together even further. Neither of them were hard just yet but Charles was sure that wouldn’t be the case for much longer, especially with the way he was sucking on Arthur’s neck, pulling hushed groans out of him. He knew it was one way to get to Arthur, to tuck his mouth into the soft, stubbled skin of his jaw and sink his teeth down or suck the blood to the surface so he was riding about in the day with cloud like blooms of purple and yellow painted across the parts of him that were unlikely to tan. The colours stark and it made Charles grin to see him wearing them proudly, as childish as lovebites were. 

It’s not as though he had had much time or luck to experience a partner display them like that. 

Until Arthur. 

As soon as he felt Arthur twitch against his hip he gave up the composure he’d been allowing himself to _not_ just grab Arthur by the swell of his ass and push them flush together, his fingers pressing into his behind and pulling until he could roll his hips into Arthur’s and feel the bed warm, waiting, cradle of his body. Watching the way Arthur almost nuzzled down into the pillow beneath him, obviously comfortable and content and Charles almost couldn’t bring himself to do what he wanted. Which was of course pushing Arthur onto his back and gathering up his thighs so he could get as many fingers as he could take into him and watch him come against the curve of his belly. 

He let him lie there instead. His hair, which had been growing consistently for the past few weeks, fanned out against the pillow still and he wished his left arm wasn't crushed beneath him because he wanted nothing more than to reach out and card his fingers through Arthur’s dark, sandy hair. Twirl it around his fingers and get a good enough grip on it so he could pull Arthur’s head back, exposing his Adam’s apple which he would suck on until Arthur was panting and opening up his legs. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Arthur cooed, his own free arm around Charles and he took a deep breath against the pillow before continuing, “Something good I guess, since I can feel you.” And with that he rolled his hips into Charles, proving that he could feel the way Charles was hardening against his own erection. It made Charles’ face crinkle into a bashful smile and he eased it away with a kiss to Arthur’s mouth, rolling his hips right back and feeling the rush of air into his mouth as Arthur exhaled hotly. 

Arthur felt his gut twinge, the warm spread of arousal tangling around his lower half and he butted his forehead against Charles’ shoulder, inhaling him and smelling the soap from yesterday’s bath. But also sweat and some kind of oil underneath. Probably something he used on his hair. Or maybe as some kind of perfume. He’d seen him dabbing lightly at his neck and wrists with something occasionally and whenever he did Arthur would shove up against him and smell him because he smelled so _good_ it set something off inside him. 

As he was lost in thought about the intricacies of Charles’ grooming routine, he didn’t even bother to notice that Charles’ hand was now squeezing in between them, and with a small, contented sigh he wrapped his hand around the both of them. Making Arthur suck in through his teeth, then laugh awkwardly and nuzzle his face into Charles, “This is pretty comfortable, hm?” 

Charles grasped them tighter, Arthur’s sentence ending with a hitched breath and the younger man echoed the laugh Arthur had just let out, “Are you happy like this?” 

Arthur snorted, “How could I not be happy when I got a beautiful man touching me? I’d have to be some kind’a lunatic.” 

“No, I mean—” He stopped to snigger quietly at Arthur “—I thought perhaps you might want me to return the favour from last night.” 

The noise that rumbled from Arthur was once again very similar to a purr and he luxuriated for a moment in the sensation of Charles’ hand on him before he replied, “Maybe I like lying like this. Where I can kiss you and do this.” His hand searched around until he could cup the small of Charles’ back, his fingers dipping to slide between his asscheeks until he could touch where he’d been the night before, and he watched as Charles’ teeth dug into the curl of his bottom lip. Coming away and leaving it shining and damp.

Of course Charles had to bite back and he murmured in return, “So, you’re not upset that I would have the space in this room, on this bed, to push your face down and push into your from behind.” He brushed his mouth over Arthur’s, his hand slow and tight on them and he could almost feel the way Arthur’s hips were shuddering as they attempted to push his cock into his grip faster. Searching for a quick release which Charles was obviously not going to allow him. He wanted to savour this, savour the lying in bed together. Calm and quiet except for the sounds of the saloon in the morning. No other camp members roaming around outside of Arthur’s covered wagon. No Abigail and John shouting at each other or Dutch’s record player blasting music like he didn’t have a single care about anyone else’s peace. “Not disappointed in any way that I might not get to press into you until filling you up?”

Arthur just whined, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed as though he was concentrating very hard on something. The slow, slick, cant of his hips into Charles’ hand a dull noise between them. Muffled by the parenthesis of their bodies tucked together like the concentric circles of the fish beneath the cusp of the Flat Iron Lake that Arthur thought about so much. 

It was overwhelming. Like a glimpse of how things could have been for them if Arthur had the courage to leave. To _get out_. Just like Hosea had tried with Bessie, although of course he had failed and returned to the lulling call of Dutch and his ideas and love. The difference with Arthur was that he knew that he had a future with Charles. What he had with his father figure of Dutch was a life of uncertainties and never quite knowing if tomorrow would be the day you find yourself in the ground. 

He wished so deeply though Hosea would wake himself up from Dutch, he called himself an old man but he had so much left in him. So many years left to be with Arthur, John and Jack. Three generations of family that could be out and alive. But Dutch held him tightly like the swirling suck of a black hole, that Hosea was whirled forever around until the dizzying heights of Dutch and his grasp kept him there. 

Charles’ voice startled him, “Arthur?”

He sucked in a breath, blinking fast because thoughts like that upset him, “Mm?”

“Just checking that you’re alright. You are...Aren’t you?” 

Arthur’s voice was tight as he replied, “Just being a stupid old man. Don’t worry about me.”

“Can I kiss you?” Charles whispered, eyes big and pleading. As though all he wanted was to make Arthur happy at that moment. 

Arthur answered by doing exactly that, kissing away the thoughts of perhaps this life wasn’t his only option. Perhaps there were better things. Perhaps Dutch wasn’t the centre of the universe for them all to roam and rotate around, blindly sacrificing their years.

Charles’ hand moved again once he felt Arthur’s body relax, his shoulders sagging slightly and the shiny, far away look in his eyes had left to only leave a tired kind of hunger. Which soon slipped into a fiercer hunger, Arthur’s hand twitching against Charles’ skin as the younger man touched them slowly. With a relentless intent. Hand big and hot and it left Arthur huffing out these panting breaths which Charles had to echo. Mirroring him until the two of them were forehead to forehead, Arthur’s hand so tight on Charles’ ass that he could almost feel the tendons in his arm working as he physically pulled Charles to and fro to push their erections together in a rhythm in Charles’ hand. 

Charles spoke after a moment, low and it curled around Arthur like smoke, “You letting’ me take care of you?” 

Arthur didn’t speak for a second, eyes closed and stomach slightly damp from where Charles’ hand was brushing him there, precum from both of them slicking it. When he did finally speak he couldn’t help but keep the cheek from his voice, “What if I wanna take care of _you_?” 

Charles’ hand stopped around the base of both of them, holding tight and he watched as Arthur swallowed hard, “I think you’ve just discovered the general idea of a relationship, Arthur. Mutual care.” 

Arthur had to laugh hard at that, stomach jumping and the strange sensation of laughter and arousal almost had him coming. A wash of joy and heat. Something he had only ever experienced with Charles, it was exhilarating in a strange kind of way. It was _fun_. Once again the feeling of experiencing something that someone in their twenties might have, that neither of them probably had before, was addictive in your thirties. Like living another life. 

With another stroke of his hand, Charles had Arthur groaning right into his space and the sound sent a shudder up his spine. The noise was wet and clawing, and he could tell that Arthur was close. Not surprising considering Charles knew that Arthur was very much acquainted with this, he’d had Arthur sat in his lap with his erection in his hand quite a few times over the past couple of weeks since his shoulder had been healing up. 

“Say something.” Arthur rasped, never one to be particularly concise and Charles snuffled a laugh, nosing his way back under his jaw and grazing his teeth against whatever skin he could get to first. 

“What would you like me to say?” Once more his voice was low. 

“Anything. Anything.” Arthur paused, “Have I ever told you I once got myself off thinkin’ about when you were yellin’ at those poachers.” 

“Y-Yeah?” Charles managed to grit out. 

He was close too. 

“Your voice was so low and powerful. But because you cared so much for them animals.” He moaned brokenly, Charles’ hand going from its slow decisive strokes to working them both quick and sloppy, “Like a growl. Like it came from right down, deep inside you. Made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Brought myself off thinkin’ about you raspin’ and bitin’ at my throat if I might have asked.” 

Charles came first with a quick suck in of air and then a whimper, something far from the rasp of what Arthur had been speaking about out on the plains of the Heartlands. His breath hiccuping as he shot on his hand, which continued its movements but now solely on Arthur’s cock as the older man stroked a hand down Charles’ spine. His mouth brushing softly against Charles’, teasing him until the teasing became too much for even him and his hips were stuttering wildly into Charles’ hand. 

There was a click from Arthur’s throat and then a hushed murmur of, “Fuck.” And then he was coming, adding to the mess of Charles’ hand and the searing squash of their bellies pressed together. The line of their bodies didn’t stop there though, Arthur’s forehead was shoved into the crook of Charles’ shoulder until Charles had to shake him off because he was actually being drooled on. Laughter racking through him and it shook Arthur’s body even as he reared back as much as he could in the cramped space of the hotel room’s bed. 

Arthur’s hand swiped across his mouth and as he spoke he watched Charles stand up, stretch his back and then try to find something to clean up with, “How are you standin’ so quick?” His tone was a little sad as he added, “We got a little longer left on the room. Come back and lie down.” His hand touching the spot on the bed where Charles had just been, soaking up the body warmth of it. 

Charles just rolled his eyes in response, returning to the bed which he knelt a single leg on and pushed Arthur so he could swipe a damp cloth over his stomach then his own hand, the expression visible on his face clear that he would have preferred another bath but it would probably be more intuitive and less attention drawing to have a dip in the lake when they got back to camp. Two baths from the same two men in less than a day? Charles wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. 

He ended up pulling on his pants and remaking, “I told Hosea I’d go fishing with him, and we can’t spend all day here. C’mon. Up.” 

In the end, Charles managed to bundle Arthur out of the room, vaguely clean and vaguely tidied up. Hat placed firmly on his head as an attempt to hide the horrible case of bed hair he’d accumulated since he’d dragged himself out of the comfort of the bed, blanket draped around his shoulders and Charles had been struck by how young he’d looked. Yawning and shuffling around to pick up his clothes with what could only be described as a certain kind of post sex shakiness. Cheeks still flushed and hair flopped down his forehead. 

They had slipped out the serving door after that, Arthur following after Charles so closely that he almost tripped twice over his feet like a newborn foal. Head almost butting into the dip of Charles’ shoulderblades. Once they were outside though, he seemed to perk up a little bit, especially at the prospect of having a cigarette in the sun and as soon as the rays of it hit his face he let out a huge sigh. He pulled his hat from his head, shaking out his hair and when he looked over at Charles he found him watching him. Eyes soft and head canted slightly to the side. 

Arthur was bashful and as he accepted the lit cigarette Charles handed to him he murmured, “Try to wipe that smug look off your face before we get back to camp. Don’t want everyone to know we’ve been...Well.” He looked off to the side, obviously too shy to be speaking so brashly in the light of day, away from the confines of their room. He cleared his throat, took a drag of his cigarette and then said a bit quieter, “You look a real treat today. Just—You look nice.” 

Charles’ eyebrows shot up, his own cigarette hanging from his mouth as he rifled through the saddlebags of Taima, attempting to surreptitiously tuck away the slick from last night and he gazed down at his outfit. Then touched a hand to one of the two braids that adorned his shoulders that Arthur had helped him plait a few moments before they’d left the bedroom. Arthur’s plait was slightly more wonky than Charles’ but the gesture was more than enough for the younger man. He couldn’t stop his smile as he replied around his cigarette, “Thank you. But, you do realise that you don’t _have_ to butter me up now that we’re out of the bedroom.” 

It seemed to catch Arthur off guard and he took a step towards Charles to shove him gently, the two of them catching each other’s eyes as he did it and then spent the next few moments, stood like idiots, chortling like silly old men. Drawing the attention of a few passers-by who stared at them, obviously not used to too grown men chuckling and falling over each other before midday in Rhodes. More fool them, Charles thought. 

When they’d caught their breath, Arthur nudged Charles with an elbow, stamping out his cigarette beneath the heel of his boot which took the air from Charles’ lungs for some unknown reason. “We should get goin’, nice for some that can have fishing trips but I got things to do today.” Charles huffed in response, knowing that Arthur was joking but still playing into it all the same. He then watched as Arthur glanced around, eyes darting from side to side as he took in the fact that for a single moment, they were alone. 

Arthur’s hand crept up, cradling the curve of his stubbled cheek and the kiss he pressed to Charles’ mouth was short and almost dainty, enough so that when Arthur pulled away and tucked his hands back to his side, Charles had to beam at him. The urge to throw himself into his arms and throw caution to the wind and kiss him again, to toss his arms around his neck and hang off him until he was turning Arthur the same shade of pink that he had been that morning. It was immense. 

He steeled himself though, still grinning from ear to ear and Arthur rumbled a laugh, embarrassed at the attention in public, “What’s got you like that?” 

He could have brought up how happy he felt in that moment. How stunned at how comfortable and safe he felt to kiss a man, _his man_ , in public. Instead all he could get out in a giddy haze was, “Nothing! I just like you.” Which spurred Arthur into more embarrassed chuckles, covering his reddening face with a hand and Charles watched as he pulled himself up onto Clementine. 

“Shut up, Mr Smith. Go enjoy your fishing with Hosea. I’ll see you later.” He then held out a hand, which Charles took immediately and as soon as Arthur had kissed his knuckles he pulled the hand away. Giving him a sharp look, softened by the enamoured wash of his eyes. 

“You really think yourself something of a Prince Charming, hm?” Charles teased, straightening up the saddle on Taima as Arthur gathered up Clem’s reins in his hands. 

“Oh. I never think anything like that of myself.” Arthur then followed up the statement by puffing up his chest, “Might start if it gets you swoonin’ though.” 

“Go home, Arthur.” Was all Charles replied with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry this took like a month to get out but as you can expect i was called back to work and obvs i only get two days off a week and im usually a bit too tired to write after work on workdays so...yeah, forgive me fOR THAT ONE LADS. 
> 
> as always, please kudos (if you havent already!) and comment because it's very useful and very much appreciated by me!
> 
> if u want u can find me 
> 
> twitter: cowboywav  
> tumblr: cowboyism


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. well. This is the end for this fic isn't it. i'm quite sad about it idk about you lot, but i worked very hard on this fic, especially considering i got adhd brain and my god do i find sticking with things insanely hard, plus going back to work this month meant i was super tired so sorry it took a bit longer than expected! 
> 
> but yeah, it's here. 
> 
> enjoy!

Hosea was waiting patiently, sat with one foot propped on one of the tables, leaning back ever so slightly. Uncaring that he was teetering on the edge of toppling over with a book clasped in his hands and a strange, far away look about him. 

Charles trotted Taima into the hitching area, though didn’t leave her back, just caught Hosea’s eye with a wave of his hand and when the older man spotted him he slammed his book shut with a huge smile and practically tossed it onto his bedroll. Almost hitting Bill in the process, who grumbled and rolled over away from the soft _whump_ of it. Obviously already drinking. Or already _drunk_. 

When Hosea approached Charles he clapped his hands together, something in his eyes that Charles couldn’t place. He found that he couldn’t maintain that eye contact, and a moment later he had fixed his eyes on the collar of Hosea’s smartly pressed shirt and said gingerly, “Sorry. I’m a little later than I first expected.” He darted his eyes up to Hosea’s face and by the faint smile still across his face it was at least easy to note that he didn’t seem in any way angry about that, and with a shrug of his shoulders he replied, 

“There was a period when it took physically wrenching Arthur out of bed to get him up when he was around seventeen. I’m sure there’s still some of that left in him. Not surprised it took you all morning to get here.” Charles didn’t comment on that. What was there to say to that which wouldn’t entirely imply that he had been rolling around in bed with this man’s adopted son. 

Hosea started to heft a bag onto Silver Dollar, Charles almost falling over Taima in the rush to help him but Hosea waved him away immediately, leaving Charles half off half on his horse. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Christ, anyone would think I’m on death’s door the way you fellers treat me sometimes.” It was said without a lick of malice or resent though, and he did in fact take Charles’ offered hand when he pulled himself into his saddle.

“Now, if it’s alright with you, I need to make a business call. Over at Emerald Ranch. Won’t take long once we’re up there, then perhaps we could head out to O’Creagh’s Run.” 

Charles’ nose wrinkled, “Isn’t that where you were after that bear?” 

Hosea barked a laugh, “I have it under good precedence that Arthur has already dealt with that one. We shan’t be needing to worry about that.” 

Charles just nodded in reply, Hosea patting him on the back when he was near enough and muttering, “Good lad.” 

“Hope you’re stocked up on crackers, might be something of a trip up there and back. At least a day or two.” Charles tried to calculate the time it would take in his head, he hadn’t rode out that far North for a good while.

Hosea grinned, the lines around his mouth crinkling and such a smug look about his face, “Oh, I’d hope so.” 

It was only then that Charles realised that perhaps this wasn’t just a nice little fishing trip with an old man who didn’t get much of a rest away from camp.

This was a precisely planned trip with him. 

He was aware very suddenly of why men in romance novellas would become so sweaty and nervous when confronted with the idea of meeting their woman’s father. 

With that thought lodged so firmly in his head that it left him reeling, they set off. Hosea chatting to him pleasantly as they rode out and up through Scarlett Meadows, the older man’s shoulders seeming to release the tension they had been holding the further away from camp they got and Charles didn’t quite know how to respond to anything he was saying. 

It was as if his mouth was glued shut and every time he did open it to add something meaningful or even something frivolous, he was brought to a stand still. The horrible swirling thought of, “Hosea is aware that I spent last night with Arthur and now he expects me to bond with him”, pacing around his head until he couldn’t think of anything else but that. 

His face probably gave it away. He was sure that there was a painful grimace across it from Clemen’s Point all the way to Dewberry Creek. So much so that his cheeks were aching by the time Hosea stopped his idle chit chatter and said a little more sternly, “You got something up your ass or are you going to engage?” Which of course caused Charles’ eyebrows to shoot up and spittle to get caught in his throat. He hacked twice, until his eyes were watering and Hosea was chuckling under his breath, “Calm down. I ain’t trying to ruffle your feathers or anything.” He shot a look at Charles, “I’m thinkin’ that perhaps you have something to say though.” 

Charles’ mouth went very dry. Dry enough that when he spoke it was almost a croak, “Have you brought me out here to threaten me?” 

Hosea positively hooted at that one. Tossing his head back and cackling. 

“Oh, my dear boy. You young men do amuse me sometimes.” He wiped at his eyes delicately, “You think far too much of me. I only threaten those who need threatenin’. Bill...Sean...You catch my drift.” 

Once more, Charles had not the slightest clue how to respond. The back of his neck prickled and it was all too similar to the sensation that had crept upon him when he had spoken to Dutch, asking him if he could take Arthur away on their trip. It was pure, unbridled nervousness and never in his life had he felt anything like it. What else was there to be nervous of that was in any way similar? He’d managed to last three decades of life without having to face anything of the sort, and now he was almost being forced to, he didn’t enjoy it much. 

“You don’t say much, do you?” 

Charles’ face fell, “Getting a little sick of hearing that.” 

“Not a bad thing. Just an observation. I raised John, I’m perfectly used to two words being said in a whole conversation. Happy with it, even. Just—” He sighed, relenting some of the bravado in his words “—I would like to hope that someday you don’t just see me as some stern, frightening figure about camp. Dutch already told me that you apparently had that view of me.” 

“Well—”

“Son, you don’t have to finish that thought.” Hosea paused to nod his head in a short hello to a passing feller, then continued in a slightly more hushed tone, “Truly, though. I have no issues with your lack of conversation skills. Bigger things to be worrying about. If I may, I might suggest gettin’ used to it, since you’re probably going to be stickin’ around for a good while longer.” 

The ranch was in sight, just over the hill, Charles’ eye line locked intently on it to save himself from casting a glance Hosea’s way and finding himself trapped in the awkward cage of having to face him head on and potentially let Hosea know what he was thinking. Although, mostly his thoughts were centred around yelling incoherently to himself inside his skull and trying to dredge up the most useful comment he could bring to the so-called conversation. 

He settled on grunting, “Good idea.” 

In the lightning fast peep he made at Hosea’s face once he had said that, the faint ghost of a smile that settled upon his lips was all too evident if you cared to look hard enough, and if perhaps Charles returned that same smile then that was between them. 

The silence that then followed up to the ranch was at least comfortable. It settled into Charles, much like the way he could quite happily sit with Arthur and not say a single thing. Familiarity was something hard to come by when you lived as they did, it had even taken those six months to simply have a full conversation with Arthur past nodding at each other and occasional awkward morning hello. The sickness of worry lurching in his belly whenever he would look at the man and wonder what number of awful things speaking to him would inevitably invite into his life. All which were somehow based around death. 

It wasn’t any wonder that Arthur seemed to dote upon and view Hosea as this great father of wisdom. He certainly had something about him. It was as though when he spoke to you he was listening so intently. That he cared. It was almost the opposite of Dutch. It trickled out of Hosea like waves lapping the side of a boat and the nerves that Charles had felt appeared to have fled entirely, leaving only a unfamiliar feeling of ease and affinity for someone that wasn’t Arthur. Much like the emotions he held towards Sadie, who he now spent a great deal of time with when he wasn’t working or with Arthur. 

It was...Pleasant. 

That was a good word to describe the strange crackle of all too boyish giddiness that came with acquiring a new friend. It was pleasant to be able to look to the side and see Hosea and consider him an ally. He was of course still terrified of this so-called fishing trip, but at least there was no chance of him stringing him up and threatening him if he were to ever lay a finger on Arthur in the wrong way. 

Charles pressed his lips together, stifling a laugh that threatened to bowl out of him all too quickly at the thought of the fact that he had laid fingers on Arthur. On him. 

In him. 

Hosea snorted quietly, the noise startling Charles a little and the older man inquired softly, “Something funny?” 

“Nothing. Just—it’s nothing.” 

“Well, nice to hear it from you anyway.” 

There it was again. The faint, soothing feeling at the back of his brain that shot down his spine and made him sit up a little straighter in his saddle. More akin to his friendship with Sadie, but even then different. It almost bordered upon pride. Or something of that ilk. As though perhaps the fact that his joy made Hosea happy circled right back around and made him happy as well. He didn’t quite understand it. 

Perhaps this was what having a father felt like. 

Or, of course, having a father that you actually _liked_. 

“Here we go.” Hosea’s voice lilted as they rounded the covered area where a single man was standing, arms crossed and when he saw Hosea he raised his hand and waved stiltedly. The man glanced around nervously, then ushered Hosea towards him with a flap of his hand. To which Hosea turned to Charles and murmured, “You just wait here a moment. Won’t take long.” Then as though he could immediately sense that Charles wasn’t too pleased to be left hanging around after him he added, “Pet the dog if you get bored, I don’t know.” Which just got him an eye roll in return and as Charles hopped off of Taima, he splayed a palm towards the man standing underneath the awning of the barn as if to say to Hosea, _go on then_. 

He ended up leaning against a nearby building, watching as said dog leapt around chasing bugs and once that became boring he settled for tapping his hands against his thighs, enjoying the calming rhythm of it as he made a point to not look at where Hosea and the man were speaking. It was none of his own business after all what deals Hosea had going out outside of what he spoke freely of at camp. Although that didn’t stop him from a cursory peek at the two men, both stood with their arms crossed and Hosea nodding every now and again while the other man laughed and spoke on. 

By the time Hosea drifted back over, Charles had become bored of everything except conjuring a daydream of how terribly amazing life would be if he had been born the son of a charming farming family, and how perhaps one day Arthur would have come to work on their ranch and—well—the later details of the thoughts didn’t need to be broadcast as they were far too filthy and he had a horrible second of thought that Hosea might have seen the stupidly enamoured look flushed across his face. Luckily, it didn’t seem as though the older man had noticed at all and as he approached, Charles’ eyes caught a hold of the packaged tucked under his arm. Wrapped in plain, brown paper and rectangular in shape. Rectangular and _thick_. 

The tell tale sight of a bundling of money and Charles whistled low, musing casually, “That’s a lot of money for one man.”

Hosea’s response was instantaneous, “It’s not for me.” And then he did something that Charles wasn’t expecting in any way. 

He held out the bundle of bills at Charles and said plainly, “It’s for you.” 

The choking sound that lurched its way out of Charles’ throat was embarrassing and almost painful, but the sudden shock of being presented with a bursting wad of cash brought the sharp prick of tears to his eyes. Not in sadness but in striking stupefaction that had him choking once more, the rattling sound of it burbling up from inside him and for a moment he just stood there. 

“Hosea, I—”

“Just—Be quiet. For a moment.” Hosea sighed, hands clutching the package and eyes pleading, “I want you to have this. You and Arthur. I’ve already given John a share of some I had kept away for a...special occasion.”

Charles stood, rooted to the spot. Mouth cracked open but nothing of any worth or sense came out of it and he must have been shaking because Hosea’s hand pulled away from the package, placing it delicately onto Charles’ bicep, which Charles shied away from to begin with. Hosea’s fingers curled around him when he had a good grasp on the younger man and as soon as he did, Charles wilted. Body slumping into the sensation and he leant into the touch. 

The back of his throat was dry. So dry that it was almost painful to swallow against it, scratching and parched, as though the shock of this man who he’d spent many, many months being somewhat terrified of presenting him with a stack of cash had dried him up like the bed of a lake. It must have come out in his voice, because when he did speak finally, the intense look that had come upon Hosea seemed to assuage slightly. Perhaps it was the fact that Charles could hear the way his voice wavered and danced about as soon as it left his mouth as he said plainly, “Why?”

Hosea’s body seemed to acquiesce. The way it slackened much like Charles and the tight curl of lines around his mouth smoothed to a gentle, wistful smile that came with age and knowledge, “I suppose that every father wants to make sure his sons are provided for.” He took a deep breath in, “For a future.” 

He pushed the package at Charles once more, his fingers almost stark white even against the muted, now crinkled, beige of the paper around the bundling with how tight he was holding onto it, “Please, son, take it.” 

Charles was curious though, and he asked quietly, “Why give it to me though? Why not Arthur?” 

The immediate response he got was a snorted laugh from Hosea, “I would expect Arthur to want to take it even less than you would.” 

Charles’ laugh was wet and he took a pregnant pause to compose himself, but when he did speak again it was quiet, almost a whisper, “Will you keep it...Just until we return back to camp? Just to keep it safe.” 

“Of course. You just spend some time thinking of a safe place to hide it when we do get back.” 

A look came about Hosea all of a sudden. His eyes became misty and his voice was little but a croak when he said, voice strained, “Keep it safe. From Dutch.” As soon as he said it, Charles could tell even thinking the thought was paining him. He sounded as though it caused him great stress to form the words, tangling up from his gullet and Charles’ hand shot out exactly how Hosea had done it to settle him. He touched the older man’s shoulder, keeping him afloat and strong as he murmured to him,

“Of course. Of course I will.”

Hosea nodded, not quite ready to meet Charles’ eyes, probably still thinking about Dutch, “I think perhaps we should attempt to actually go fishing now.” He met Charles’ eyes then, and Charles kept that eye contact, something that was often hard for him but he wanted to assure Hosea. Wanted the man to know that he appreciated him. So he kept that gaze and the hand on his shoulder squeezed as he nodded and gestured with his head back to the horses, which they ambled back over to. An air of bashfulness about the both of them, but it soon faded as Emerald Ranch descended on the horizon behind them, and they crept on towards the lake. 

They decided to settle a little ways off the lake, where a sporadic selection of trees cradled a flat bed of grass, perfect enough for a tiny little camp, just for the two of them. More than enough room to set up a campfire and soon Charles had caught them a rabbit, Hosea watching on the entire time, only commenting on the fact that he had done the exact same thing with Arthur the last time they had been there. It made Charles warm inside. Like a pleasantly warm hand was cradling the inside of his chest and for the first time in perhaps ever, he smiled a real smile at Hosea. It felt a little strange, and he hoped it didn’t look too grimace like, but it was a smile nonetheless. 

He received a short, cordial smile in return, but he could tell that Hosea was warming to him even more. 

Especially when they spent dinner time discussing tonics they had both been testing and trying between them, something that did become a little worrying when Hosea spoke at length about the tonics he’d been dabbling with that seemed to pertain to easing racking coughs. It was only then that it crossed his mind that he had noticed that Hosea often was heard rasping, hand enveloping his mouth, clutched tightly around it as though he were trying to shield the rest of the gang from the mere sight and sound of his coughing. Most often someone would come and lay a gentle hand on his back, once Charles (when he had been daring enough) had done it himself. Hosea’s hand had come away with a smear of red across it. Something he had pushed far back into his mind because it hadn’t been his business at the time and it certainly wasn’t at that point either. 

As something of a peace offering, he offered a recipe he knew that was said to ease the clenching hack of a persistent cough and Hosea apparently pleased with that idea gave him a short, sharp smile and nodded his head in thanks. 

It felt good to see it. As though maybe this whole idea of an odd bonding trip with Hosea was growing on him.

The campfire had died down enough to keep the chill from them and Charles was already lounging on his bedroll, quite happy to peer up at the sky and listen to Hosea pottering around doing whatever it was that a man in his fifties did before he settled down to sleep. The sound of whatever he was doing was soothing and for a curious moment Charles couldn’t help but wonder what Arthur’s routine in another thirty years would be. Hosea grumbled lightly under his breath as he fumbled with his boots and Charles noted that Arthur already grumbled a lot anyway, even without the gossamer veil of age. He decided to shuffle as conspicuously as he could so that he could roll himself onto his side and watch Hosea. Maybe Arthur would take after his adoptive father as he aged. He stilled when he could catch a glimpse of the way Hosea moved, placing his hat onto the grass beside his roll and when he caught Charles’ eyes the younger man’s mouth twisted. Embarrassed. 

“Sorry.” He muttered bashfully. 

Hosea waved a hand, “For simply lookin’ at me? Not really a crime.” He carefully lowered himself to sit on his bedroll and rolled his shoulders back, stretching his muscles, “Anything on your mind in particular, son?” 

Charles rolled a thought around his head and then his mouth, almost tasting it to test for how it might come out, but then decided to throw caution to the wind and blurt out, “You’ve done well...To be alive, I mean.” Then realised how utterly stupid that sounded and added very quickly after hearing Hosea’s short laugh, “I just meant...For this lifestyle. You’ve led a good, long life.” 

Hosea pulled a face as though he disagreed, “‘Good’ I think is a debatable term. But, you’re right. I’ve done well for myself to get this far.” He grinned, the glimmer of a younger man peeking through with the way his teeth shone pearly in the fire light, “What makes you say so?” 

Charles tried very hard to not let any sort of look of pure devotion slip across his face as he spoke, “Was wondering how his fifties might look on Arthur. I hope it suits him.” His voice softened, that all encompassing cadence of love inching its way into the way he spoke even though he tried to steel himself against it, “I want to be able to see it. To see him.” He flitted his eyes between Hosea’s face and the fire to the side of them, “I’m sure you do too.” 

“Mm.” Hosea simply hummed in agreement, propping his head up on his hand as he laid himself on his bedroll, getting settled down to the night, “I think he’d suit grey a lot better than I have.” That had Charles smiling shyly, the image of Arthur with splashes of silver dusting his temples sending a shudder of joy through him, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe any idea of Arthur being happy and old and alive was just something he was prone to enjoying. He could see it now, Arthur sat on the front porch of a ranch house, grey streaks in his hair and beard and a cup of coffee clasped in his hands. Eyes wrinkled but calm and happy.

The gesture of Hosea’s money hit him once more. 

With the money, a life like that was easy to see, just on the horizon. 

He chewed on his bottom lip before clumsily murmuring, “Thank you, Hosea. Truly.” 

Hosea didn’t say anything in reply, but Charles did watch as his hand crept out and reached out until he could clasp Charles’ hand in his own. His skin was rough, calloused from years of working and running. Years of raising two boys with probably little to no help from Dutch. But warm. His hand was warm. Maybe from the fire and Charles allowed the more intimate touch, something he wouldn’t with most people in their little gang. It was a comforting touch and Charles knew what it meant. It was a ‘you’re welcome’ and a ‘thank you too’ all in one. 

The hand retracted, tucking up underneath Hosea’s head as he took to sleep, something that Charles soon followed suit. 

When they arrived back to camp much later the next day, a good few, fat fish tucked into their bags, they were ushered once off their horses to come and sit around the fire. Pearson had whipped up a stew just before they arrived and both Charles and Hosea winced at the idea of having to eat it after their trip. As it turned out, the combination of the two of their experiences of living alone and on the run made for rather fine dining, and the breakfast that had created for the two of them before they had sat about the lake having borrowed a boat from the veteran in the homestead to the side of it, was surprisingly delicious. Enough that Charles had looked at Hosea with a countenance that was borderline shocked and had made Hosea chuckle brightly and say that they were quite the duo. 

Stew was pushed into their hands though, John to Hosea and Arthur to Charles, Marston patting Hosea on the back and in his scratchy voice he said very assuredly, “You need it, old man. Must’a been quite a ride.” 

So they sat and they ate, Arthur with the dopiest smile spread across his face as he stared on at Charles eating, and when he did eventually speak up, he sounded like a kid on Christmas, “So...You and Hosea have a good time then?” 

Charles grunted in response, mouth full of...Some kind of vegetable.

Arthur’s hand descended in a _whap_ to Charles’ knee that rattled his entire body, “I’m so glad! I was wonderin’ when the two of you would spend some time together. Hope he ain’t been tellin’ you embarrassing stories about me though…” Arthur trailed off at the end, a thoughtfully worried look about him, “There’s plenty of ‘em.” 

Hosea interrupted the pondering, “I much prefer the one where John slipped over a grand total of six times in a pigsty when he was around sixteen.” Which of course turned John beetroot red and there was a torrid moment of incensement from the younger of the two sons that sent a cascade of spluttering from him and Arthur absolutely hooted at the memory of the whole thing. Meanwhile John tried to get a word in edgeways amongst the laughter between all of them sitting there, even young Jack joined in, though Charles supposed that he wasn’t even too sure what he was laughing about. 

“I slipped _five_ times, Hosea!” John insisted, face still red and his son clambering over him while he tried to still the boy, “It was five, I remember!”

“It was six, son.” Hosea’s said matter of factly, crossing his arms about him and setting his shoulders until John relented, head bowed and muttering, 

“Fine, fine. _Six_.” He paused to pull Jack off of him a little, “Jacky, would you mind? You’re yankin’ your Pa’s hair out like that.” Abigail, who was only passing (still rather unimpressed with John it seemed) tutted and rolled her eyes at the scene. Hiking the basket on her hip a little higher.

“Pass him to Arthur if you’re gonna complain. Least he lets the boy sit on his lap without complainin’.” The boy immediately took his mother’s suggestion to heart and he practically flew off of his father’s lap and flung himself onto his uncle, Arthur letting out a wheezing ‘oof’. As if by muscle memory his hands secured themselves around Jack’s middle, hefting him a little further onto his lap while John sat looking decidedly forlorn. The red flush still leaked down his cheeks to the slice of chest that was showing, the gouges across his face even paling in comparison to shade of embarrassment. 

“Well, what about the time Arthur got chased out of that saloon when they caught him stealin’ from the kitchen? And he was runnin’ down the street with handfuls of vegetables?” 

Arthur would have probably walloped John if he was close enough, but luckily the young boy on his lap and Charles between the two of them stopped him, “That wasn’t an embarrassin’ story, you dumbass! That was pretty damn smart of me. If I remember correctly you were the one bouncin’ off the walls because Grimshaw managed to make at least three dinners out of it!” 

The tales of John and Arthur’s youth carried on for much longer than Charles expected. He’d heard some things from Arthur in the past few months but never anything like what they were speaking of. It was nice. The sweet, comfortable rumble inside of being included in something. Being included in family discussions, as Arthur would often turn and direct his jibing of John at Charles to see if he would agree with a nod of his head or perhaps a small, quiet smile. He’d never quite been included in something of the sort before. Especially with the way Jack was soon passed to him as Arthur and John grew more heated in their discussions, Hosea leaning back in his chair and Charles didn’t miss the way Dutch’s hand lingered on his shoulder as he passed.

The small boy didn’t seem to care who he was sat on, as Charles wasn’t too sure how to hold him or if he had even picked up the boy at all, let alone had him on his lap. But he yawned and settled into him, listening with keen ears as his father and uncle swapped stories of increasing embarrassment, giggling with a fat hand stuffed over his mouth when he could understand the hilarity in certain stories. It wasn’t long before he was waning though, leaning back hard against Charles’ front and when Abigail joined them properly, rustling her skirts as she took a seat next to John. She laid a hand on his knee, obviously not as irritated by her man as everyone assumed, and then noticed how Jack was nodding off on Charles’ lap and she sniggered quietly. As she tilted her head towards the boy she divulged in an amused voice, “Be careful there. _He drools_. In his sleep, I mean.” 

That caught Arthur’s attention and when he swivelled his head slightly to peer at Charles and Jack, it was as if the breath that he had just inhaled got caught halfway in a gasp. 

Perhaps it was the low, mellow flickering of the fire light across the both of them. Or the content look on Charles’ face as Jack’s little, chubby face ducked down against his own chest and the shallow breaths of sleep he took. Whatever it was though, it lit something within Arthur. Much like when Eliza had first—

He swallowed, his hand moving before he could stop it and he cupped his hand around Jack’s soft little cheek, then very unlike himself, reached up and slid a piece of Charles’ hair behind his ear. Tucking it back, uncaring that he was right slap bang in the middle of camp and in front of everyone and anyone. 

Nothing came of it, of course. Except Charles smiling shyly and Abigail muttering, “How come you ain’t sweet like that to me?” To which John sank a little lower in his seat. 

Charles managed to sneak a hand away from Jack, enough to squeeze Arthur’s knee and he mused gently, “You’re thinking something, aren’t you.” 

“Unusual, I know.” Arthur answered with a tiny smirk in an attempt to lessen the shyness that had come upon him. It wasn’t often he thought about such things as children in a way that didn’t involve somehow looking after Jack, or the very few times he thought back to Isaac. Even then the thoughts were brief and painful. 

The cloying lull of silence that came with Charles and Arthur’s eyes meeting above Jack was broken all too quickly by Sean. As usual. 

He passed behind them, hands on his hips when he spotted them and in a smarmy voice he proclaimed, “Jesus Christ! The two a’yous broody all of a sudden?” He shook his head, “Couldn’t be me.” 

“MacGuire, you best shut your trap and stop ruining our evenin’, otherwise I’ll make sure you ain’t able to have children.” Arthur growled, to which Sean just laughed a huge belly laugh. 

“Oh, Arthur. You’re a funny one.” 

Charles took no notice though, too caught up in the cosy sensation of family.

———

The weather held beautifully for three days after Charles and Hosea returned, hardly a cloud in sight and the girls had all but shoved Charles and Arthur out of camp on the second morning. Insisting that they had them covered if they wanted to go and spend some quality time together. Which of course meant that both Charles and Arthur had blushed furiously and Arthur had piped up with, “We ain’t got time to be going to a hotel again!” 

Charles’ jaw had set and he watched as the faces of all three girls lit up, which was when the hollering started. 

Karen looked more gleeful than either men had ever seen her and Mary-Beth and Tilly almost had to hold her back by the shoulders, “You been canoodling in hotel rooms now?” Karen smacked her hand against her thigh and hooted, “Holy shit, I thought maybe you were out hunting the other night and you were—were—”

“You don’t have to finish that sentence, Karen, thank you.” Arthur grumbled, obviously bashful, “We ain’t all like you who don’t care who’s around and whose tent we’re in.” Eluding to Sean’s return party and immediately Karen stuck her nose into the air, cheeks flaming. 

Tilly shoved Karen’s shoulder lightly and then directed her murmur at Arthur and Charles, “You should go though, we’ll do so many chores that nobody will be able to complain that you ain’t here. It’s fine.” She smiled sweetly, “We got it.”

It wasn’t until they were out onto the dirt track leading out of Clemen’s Point that Arthur’s brow furrowed and he announced as if the thought had truly just come to him, “They’re gonna spend the whole day gossiping about us, aren’t they?” 

Charles’ gentle amusement was evident in the soft way he answered, “Oh, Arthur. It’s sweet that you think they don’t talk about us most days.” He laughed brightly at the shock on Arthur’s face, “C’mon, what else are they going to spend their days chatting about? Uncle’s banjo playing?” 

Arthur grumbled, but then acquiesced and with a shrug of a shoulder he said, “Glad to know that we’re so interestin’” He blew out a puff of air, bristling the hair across his forehead and when that wasn’t enough to push it back he brushed a hand across his forehead. Coming back wet with sweat and he took a small peep at the sun, then his pocket watch, “Gonna be hot today. Only just gone ten and I’m already sweatin’ like a pig.” 

“You know, your way with words is one of the things I find so attractive about you.” 

Charles got a tut in response and Arthur flapped his hand at him, “Oh, shut up.” But he was grinning, hat tucked down low but Charles could spot the telltale signs of Arthur’s coy smile curling up from under the brim. 

They set themselves up in the Meadow, the blankets from their horses draped over the softest patch of grass they could find and the sigh that came from Arthur when he sat down was so huge that Charles snuffled a laugh, pulling his cigarettes from his jean pocket and he offered one silently to Arthur. The older man shook his head, “Nah. Gonna draw and I have a bad habit of getting ash all over the page when I do.” That also made Charles chuckle and after pressing a kiss to Arthur’s cheek he lit his own cigarette and laid back against the blanket, ready to _relax_. 

The meadow’s trees were somewhat of a godsend, sheltering them from the glaring sun but also from the peering eyes of anyone who might be trotting along the road, the canopy thick enough that it would take someone physically finding their way through the trunks of the trees to stumble upon the two of them. Something that soothed Arthur’s mind enough for him to place a hand on Charles’ thigh, rubbing his thumb across the stiff fabric of his jeans and hoping that the touch would translate to the soft skin beneath.

It apparently did as Charles swapped his cigarette to his left hand and reached out with his right, entwining their fingers, not minding in the slightest that Arthur’s palm was sweaty from the clammy heat and Charles brought Arthur’s hand to his mouth. Kissing it softly and he watched as Arthur glanced down at him, eyes soft and tired. So he let the hand go after that, Arthur pulling it back up to where his diary was resting on his lap, “Show me when you’re done.” Charles murmured, and Arthur just smiled in response, holding back the desperate need to toss the diary to the side and settle on top of Charles to kiss him. 

He _did_ hold back. But only just.

At around midday, or thereabouts, Charles stretched on the blanket. Stomach warm from the beam of sun that was laid segmented across it and he rubbed his hand over his belly, humming happily. The noise startled Arthur a little and he twisted to look at Charles, his eyes following the smooth strokes of Charles’ hand against his stomach and nothing had looked more inviting than the plump warmth of that stomach. Arthur having to hold back the need to rest his head on it and let Charles card his fingers through his hair, something that Charles noticed almost immediately and he propped himself up on an elbow, blinking sleepily and only just realising that he’d taken a short nap while Arthur had sketched next to him. 

He cracked a yawn and rubbed a knuckle into his eye, “Didn’t even realise I’d fallen asleep there.” 

Arthur sniggered, turning his diary to him, and in the middle of some sketches of plants that were in their general vicinity was the likeness of a very much asleep Charles. Face slack and mouth slightly open, which made the real Charles wrinkle his nose and he uttered a sound of disbelief before he questioned, “Do I really look that stupid?” Arthur sighed at that, turning the diary back to himself and he brushed his thumb softly over the drawing, as though he was trying to touch the real thing. 

“Not stupid. I think you look handsome.” Arthur’s tone was so fond, so affectionate, that it made Charles want to gather him up and kiss every part of him that he could. Instead, he rolled onto his side and asked softly,

“You’re always drawing me. Your diary is going to be just pages upon pages of me and nothing else.” He rubbed a hand across Arthur’s thigh, much like how the other man had done to him before he’d dropped off to sleep, “Can I try?” 

Arthur blinked, “Try drawing yourself?”

“No, stupid, drawing you. Only fair, I think.” He made a grabbing motion at the pencil clasped in between Arthur’s fingers and Arthur handed it over with the diary itself to draw onto, a little dazed at the concept of Charles drawing him. Was the other man even adept at art? Arthur had never seen him put pencil to paper before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled in some way at it. If he was asking so openly to do it perhaps he was greatly proficient and was too shy to ever let on. Perhaps he was even better than Arthur and he was only sparing his feelings because he loved him so dearly. 

When Charles handed back the diary it was evident none of that was the case. 

It wasn’t awful by any means, it actually was rather good if you looked at it at the right angle, but it was obvious that Charles was no Arthur when it came to sketching people. That didn’t stop Arthur’s throat from closing up, and he gazed between the incredibly basic art of himself and Charles’ waiting face. The younger man’s eyes huge and doe like, as if he was ready to be laughed at, but Arthur did no such thing. He held the diary delicately in his hands, cradling it almost before he leaned forward and planted a huge kiss on Charles’ mouth. Charles almost barked a laugh into the kiss, obviously a little shocked. 

“It’s not very good, is it?” Charles kept laughing as he spoke, or attempted to speak, as Arthur was making it a little hard by grabbing the back of his neck and plastering the side of his jaw with small, sweet kisses. “Arthur, it’s terrible. C’mon. I don’t deserve this.”

“It’s great, be quiet. I love it. Better than a lot of things I seen.” He smattered a few more kisses onto Charles, “Thank you, sweetheart.” The pet name making Charles push at him bashfully, trying to pry him off of him, though secretly he was enjoying the attention. He knew that it truly was a pretty terrible likeness of Arthur, but maybe he’d attempt this art thing a whole lot more if it served to make Arthur kiss him all over. Though, it’s not as if he ever needed to do much to get love from the other man. 

“Maybe you could teach me a little on how to improve. I think you’d be a good teacher.” Charles grinned lazily, lying back against the blanket and tucking his hand beneath his head. The sight of it making Arthur’s mouth go dry and he had to swallow at least three times before he could wheeze his words out. 

“I certainly could try.” He smoothed his thumb over his thumb over Charles’ cheek. Then his mouth, watching as Charles pressed a kiss to the pad of it, Arthur only just managing to pull it away as Charles went to open his mouth and suck the thumb into his mouth. Arthur’s laugh was surprised, “Stop that! Don’t gotta convince me. You’re being cheeky.” 

Charles balked, “Cheeky! What kind of word is that? Cheeky.” He scoffed playfully, “Maybe I just wanna put your fingers in my mouth.” 

“I actually think your thumb isn’t a finger. I think it’s just a—a thumb. You know?” 

“Arthur?” Charles blinked up at him through his eyelashes. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m trying to flirt with you. Could you be a little less dense about it?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Arthur sniggered, all the while still peering down at the pencil sketch of him that Charles had done, “This really is something.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice though, “Maybe you and Jacky could share tips between the two of you, I think you might both be at the same kind of level.” 

The comment had Charles laughing. Laughing and smacking his hand hard on Arthur’s knee that was closest to him, “Stop making fun! C’mere.” He grabbed the nearest part of Arthur that he could, pulling him down until they were both laid on the blanket, Arthur’s head on Charles’ collarbone and Arthur would never admit it outloud but that was his favourite position to be in. Cushioned on Charles so he could tuck his head into his shoulder and place his hand onto his chest, perhaps even push his hand up underneath the fabric of his shirt if he was feeling daring. He decided against it this time though. They were probably being a bit too daring in the position they were in anyway, but at least like this he could yank himself into a sitting position if someone was to wander into the clearing they were in. 

Charles felt so soft under him. Like he could sink into him and he didn’t even notice he had sighed as hard as he had until Charles’ chest was shaking underneath him, the younger man chuckling to himself, “You good there?” Arthur nodded his head, a little awkwardly from where he was positioned, turning his face into Charles’ neck, feeling none of his thirty six years. Once again feeling as though they were teenage sweethearts and they had the entirety of their time ahead of them. 

Perhaps they did. Life didn’t end at forty. Hosea proved that. 

He curled around Charles a little more, feeling the soft thrum of his pulse against his lips as he pressed his mouth into the paper thin skin of his neck. The sensation making Charles shudder and Arthur could feel the vibrations of it as Charles spoke, “Perhaps by the time we have a place of our own, I won’t be so goddamn awful at it. Could be a couple of old men, spending our time sitting on the porch, sketching coyotes.” 

Arthur snuffled a laugh, “That’s the dream, is it? Like Dutch with his books. Two old men growing old with their sketchbooks and pages of paper lining the walls.” He hummed, “I think I’d quite like that actually. As long as it was _our_ place.” 

Charles echoed the hum in agreement, “I’d probably be happy whatever we did. As long as we could watch the sun go down together.” 

Arthur didn’t quite know what to say to that other than, “Me too.”

Charles’ fingers found Arthur’s hair and he stroked it gently, enjoying the way it was getting long. Maybe even long enough to give Arthur a tiny, matching braid to suit his own braids. The thought of it lying delicate across his neck warming his stomach. “I think I would find a lot of meaning even in the smallest things if we were together. I suppose it’s a long way off.” He swallowed. The thought of the now hidden stack of money in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Arthur of it just yet, “Every day I think about John’s offer. How it could change all of this for us. It’s almost an incentive...Power on through so finally see the other side.” 

Arthur gazed off dreamily into the middle distance, obviously imagining exactly what Charles was, and as he did his hands slipped their way around him fully until he was holding Charles tight and firm against him. Again, not the smartest thing to be doing out in the open, but he wanted to feel the way he held so strong against him. Huge and hot in the sun. 

He was gorgeous like this. 

Something that Arthur said into Charles’ neck, words brushing the tender skin of Charles’ earlobe and he shuddered once more, his hand settling onto the crown of Arthur’s head. Holding the exact part where he knew if he were to compare Arthur to iconography, his halo would sit comfortably. Adorned on his dark flaxen hair where it ought to be and he had to physically stop himself from comparing Arthur to an angel. Once he started he knew he would not be able to stop, and if Arthur’s smug smile was anything to go by when he nudged himself up to look down on Charles, the cracks were all too obvious. 

“You thinkin’ sweet things?” Arthur crooned. 

Charles blinked, eyes suddenly thick and prickling, “Yes.” He touched a hand to Arthur’s breast, hopefully where his heart lay beneath, “Yes. At any given moment I’m probably thinking sweet things about you.” 

Arthur’s own hand went up to shield his eyes from Charles, embarrassed and pink and practically glowing with the compliment, “Shut up!” 

Charles laughed brightly and shook his head, “No. I won’t.” 

They ended up sharing a cigarette, now that Charles was a little more awake from his nap, though with the fact he hardly ever allowed himself the respite of even staying in bed past about half past five in the morning, the nap had left him slightly groggy. Eyes adjusting for a while longer and he even cracked a few yawns as they sat together. Body now yearning painfully to fall back asleep and make up for the...oh, two decades or so, of not getting enough sleep. 

Arthur rubbed Charles’ back as they smoked, kissing his brow as he passed the rolled cigarette between their warm fingers, “You can keep on nappin’ if you want. I won’t be offended if you’d rather sleep a little longer than sit and look at my ugly mug.” Which had Charles glaring and digging a sharp elbow into Arthur’s ribs. 

“Do be quiet. I just need to wake myself up a little more.” He shook his head as he spoke, almost as if to toss the tiredness from his skull and after taking a deep drag of the cigarette, he inhaled and then exhaled as he spoke, “I was thinking, you’re very good with Jack.” He blew out the rest of the smoke and then nudged the cigarette back to Arthur, “He likes you a lot. He’s a good boy.” 

“Mm.” Arthur concurred gently, scratching at the stubble on his chin, “He’s such a sweet little mite. Don’t think he’s got a bad bone in his body. Seen him the other day talkin’ to a frog he found. Just sittin’ and talkin’.” He smiled as though he were recalling something that brought such joy to him that he couldn’t help the grin that bubbled forth, “I never thought I’d like kids, you know? Then John arrived.” He paused. Then spoke a little more softly than before, holding back a kind of emotion Charles couldn’t place, “Then Isaac.” 

Charles stepped in immediately, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

He knew of Isaac. A little, at least. 

Arthur shrugged, “No. I suppose I don’t.” He smiled sadly. The muscles of his face twitching as though it pained him a little, “I think maybe I will one day, though. If only to get it out.” He cleared his throat, “I’m sure you’ll find my few tales of fatherhood stupid. I struggled with it, as I do most things. Made a lot of mistakes.” 

“The good must have outweighed the mistakes.” Charles’ hand cupped Arthur’s, “As it usually does with you.” 

Arthur’s voice was strained. Emotion brimming and threatening to spill over, “You’re obsessed with insisting I’m a good man, aren’t you?” 

“Obsessed with the truth of it.” Charles replied, curling his legs to sit cross-legged and he took the very last drag of the cigarette before pinching it out and tucking the stub into his small pouched bag, which upon Arthur’s eyebrow raising he said, “I’m not ruining the scenery with cigarette ends. I’ll dispose of it later.” 

Arthur faked a swoon, “God, you’re the perfect man, ain’t you?”

With the cigarette out the picture, that left them no other choice than to put their mouths to other uses, or so Arthur supplied, and so they spent a good, long while kissing each other breathless. Soft and sweet at first, then a little deeper, and then a little rougher. Until Charles was pinching Arthur’s cheeks between his hard fingers and watching his mouth pry open so he could push his tongue into his mouth. Curling it around Arthur’s and then licking into him, listening with such keen ears to the shaking noises that made their way out of Arthur’s chest, catching in the cusp of his throat and it brought him a strange kind of glee to hear the noises rupture out of him so prettily. It made him want to hold the swell of his neck. Feel the bump and dip of his Adam’s apple as he made him make those noises again and again. He wanted him to love it. 

He wanted him to love him.

Charles kissed him gently again. Laying the billowing swell of his own love onto Arthur so delicately that maybe it would inspire something of a verbal declaration out of him, though he knew it was wrong of him to want to dredge it from him. It should come naturally. He just wished naturally would come a little faster. 

He drew back, a thought cropping up in his mind, his mouth still wet as it held itself just inches from Arthur’s and Arthur could tell from the wrinkle of Charles’ nose that he had something on his mind. He watched it practically roll around his head unbridled, let a filly let loose in a meadow. 

“Go on.” He urged, “I can tell you’re thinking of something.” He grinned, the smile cheeky. “Might even get lucky. Could be thinking about undressing me.” 

Charles had the urge to butt his head against Arthur’s, but he held it at bay, “Not quite that.” He let his finger drift over the high of Arthur’s cheekbone, “You’re happy with me, aren’t you?” 

“You know I am.” Arthur’s eyes were moon-like. Huge. “I’m happier than I ever been. I’m tired and honestly a little sore sometimes when I go riding across the state after you’ve taken care of me.” There was a playful lilt to his voice that continued on into his next utterance, “Life ain’t all that different. I still wake up and go about workin’ for almost everyone else but myself in this camp but,” he shrugged, “I don’t know. At least now it almost feels like a life to think about. Work that leads ultimately to the end of the day when I can see you.” 

Charles’ voice was so soft as he spoke, “A purpose.”

“Mm.” Arthur agreed, “Yeah, sure. A purpose.” 

It took Arthur a little off guard as Charles said boldly, after a moment’s pause, “I still think about mine. My purpose.” They had split apart a little further now, Charles knelt and Arthur sat, watching the other man curiously as he continued, a strange, almost longing smile on his face, “I once thought all I was good for was to suffer myself.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, “Why are you smilin’ at that?”

Charles’ voice shook. It was miniscule. Hard to hear. But there nevertheless, “I suppose it’s because I don’t believe that anymore.” His hand curled around Arthur’s and Arthur could feel the sweat clinging to his palm as it cupped the back of his own hand, “I feel the same as you, about family. I know that it’s probably the most important thing to you. And much like you, I feel as though I have roots now. They’re small, perhaps not as set as others, but they’re there.”

“With the gang?” Arthur questioned, still curious where this was going.

Charles’ hand left Arthur’s, cupping his face and still slightly sweaty, as though he were nervous, “With you, Arthur. They’re with you.”

The kiss they fell into was immediate. Nothing else was said between them, what could there be said that wasn’t summed up perfectly with the joining of their mouths? The way that they fit together even when they were instantaneous and bordering on rough. Charles’ hands flying to scrabble at Arthur’s shoulders and when he did Arthur sighed into his mouth, the sound so content and _happy_. Enough so that Charles could almost feel tears threaten to prickle at the corner of his eyes. 

They held back though. At the barrier of his eyes, helped by the press of his hand against them until Arthur pried his hand away and kissed him. Over and over until Charles was grinning hard, silly and all too carefree for him. He understood now why Arthur claimed he felt like a foolish boy when they spent a lot of time together. They made each other soft. Soft enough that he stumbled out an almost giggling, “I love you.” Something that he of course had said before, he wasn’t afraid of the words, but usually it came at pointed moments, not just during playful kisses. 

But he did. He loved him so truly. Even if Arthur had yet to say it back.

Which of course shocked him when Arthur murmured softly in return, “I love you too.” 

A breath was sucked into Charles’ lungs through a barely parted, and damp, mouth.

He then kissed him anywhere he could reach, words coming in between erratic kisses, “Do all you can to not get yourself killed. Now that you’ve said it, you must try for me.”

Arthur laughed, though it wasn’t to make fun of what Charles had said, he just couldn’t stop the noise from coming out of him, and he had a little trouble prying Charles’ hands away from him enough to pull them in front of him. 

He kissed those hands, strong and warm, and when he turned a palm to the sky almost in prayer he slipped his own hand over it. Almost in a mock handshake. The palms laid flat to each other, as were the scars that adorned them. Arthur’s from the bison and Charles’ from Blackwater. Two points of their life where they turned such awful events into something better for the both of them. 

Blackwater should never have happened, not in the way it had. But if not, would they have hunted together? Would they have met on the night of Sean’s party? 

Perhaps not. 

Or even the bison. The heroism of Charles and the tenderness of Arthur’s actions ran together.

Much like the scars on their hands, their actions mirrored each other. Circling around and around. One thing leading to another. 

“I would do possibly anything for you. For your happiness. To give you a purpose.” Arthur’s words were raw, split wide open for Charles as he focused on the way the raised skin of their palms felt against each other. Shared experiences. 

He laughed though, in spite of the tears that once against threatened his view. 

He wondered if this overbearing sensation of balminess that overcame him whenever he interacted with Arthur in any way, even when he was being horrid and perfectly stupid, would stay forever; god he hoped it would. As he hoped the gentle ‘I love you’s’ would too. For now he just wanted to hear it a second time, just to be sure (or so he reasoned to himself). 

“Once more, please. Tell me once more, Arthur.” 

Arthur did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sure we all can imagine this isn't the end for this series. or at least, i don't want it to be the end. i will def at some point hopefully write some short things to fill in space and perhaps write about charles and arthur fix-it at beecher's hope because god we need that we need it so badly. 
> 
> if you enjoyed this whole thing then please let me know, again i worked so hard on this and even tho i loved writing it, it's a real experience for me because starting and then finishing projects is literally the hardest thing known to man to me, so any comment will make me honestly shed a tear at this point
> 
> and most importantly thank you for reading or kudos-ing or commenting to begin with, thank you sm guys :')
> 
> u can find me:
> 
> twitter: cowboywav  
> tumblr: cowboyism


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